Feel New
by Combustibility
Summary: Meet Reader-Chan, a troubled girl with a shitty life that travels from foster home to foster home. Meet Jean, a boy who lost his best friend and is in need of a new one. How will your lives intertwine? Trigger Warnings. Angst. Reader x Jean Kirschtein Insert. Based off "Halloween" by Chris Garneau. Modern AU. Foster Home AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Feel New Chapter One: Crazy Ass Woman and Weird Yet Intriguing Guy In The Woods**

_"Black and blues,_  
><em>And yellows, too.<em>  
><em>Fade the same,<em>  
><em>As embers do.<em>  
><em>We'll wake up tomorrow<em>  
><em>And feel new."<em>  
><strong>-Chris Garneau "Halloween"<strong>

The trees were a whir of green as the car rushed by. Street vendors sold hotdogs to whining and hungry children. Their mothers reluctantly bought their orders, reprimanding them that they couldn't always have it their way. That throwing tantrums is unreasonable. It was no use. It never will be.

With your sneakered feet propped up on the car dashboard, ear buds hanging precariously from your ears with dangerously loud music playing, you continued to gaze out the window as the world passed you by. It always did, you realized. You were on your way to yet another foster home. It was your 8th one in four months. They always said the same thing: _"She never connects with anyone", "Does she have_ _depression? She needs a doctor!", "A trouble-maker", "That poor girl; I hope she finds a family that suits her soon"._ _Fuck them,_ you thought bitterly. They were the problem. And you didn't need their pity.

So, anyway, here you were. Stuck in a car with your social worker, Levi. Despite his age, he had the attitude of a teenager. He would swear like a fucking shitty sailor and push people away from him. You always wondered how such a crude man would turn out to become a social worker for children.

"Oi, shitty brat, get your dirty sneakers off my dashboard," Levi barked, breaking the silence. Yup; this was a social worker.

He was also very clean. Just despised any kind of dirt.

Even through your loud music you could hear him. You didn't comply, eyeing his ebony hair from behind the car seat.

"Hello? I'm talking to you." His voice sounded annoyed.

Sighing, you lifted your feet off the dashboard, one foot at a time, taking an eternity.

"Good. Are you excited for your new foster home?"

You turned off your music. He didn't sound excited, that was for sure.

"Well?" he asked when you didn't say anything.

You grunted. "Whatever."

"Tch," Levi said, focusing on driving now that he knew you weren't up to conversation. It wasn't like he was going to hold it for very long; you could tell he didn't even like to talk to you. Pretty much no one did.

You rolled your eyes, wrapping your earbuds around your phone and shoving it into your pack. Inside it was where you kept most of your belongings, like books or your sketchbooks and shit. You've always had the pack, even before you started going to foster homes. Which reminded you of why you even had to go to them. You wrinkled your nose, still being able to smell the oranges in the air and hear the police sirens wailing in the distance.

You looked out the window again. You found that you were no longer in the streets of the busy island but now in calm neighborhoods, devoid of any kind of bustling of street vendors that reeked of grease and hotdogs, or the honks of cars from frustrated business men trying to get to their press conference in time. The island was mostly neighborhoods, but there was the occasional plaza and such. You knew this because you had been living on the west side of it. It was about an hour's drive from Seattle. Ever since you began going to the hell homes you've been jumping from place to place all over the island, always relocating to a new home because you were too much of a handful for the last foster parents. You never stayed in the home for too long; your current record was six and a half days because you were "endangering" the woman's _precious_ little dogs. You just wanted to see if the chocolate thing was true.

Not like you knew it was already proven before but you were human. Curiosity was natural.

The houses you passed were mostly the same: cobblestone or brick with ceramic roof tiles or black shingles. Some were painted differently and, of course, had differences, but still. Pretty much the same house over and over again. Soon the car slowed and Levi parked it near the curb of a large house. It was big, that was for sure. You were certain there were three floors. The roof was colored differently than the others: a dusty green while the home's outer walls were white. The stone steps that lead up to the house were cluttered with random objects: chairs, mats, logs, and even a lawn flamingo. Tacky and ironic. The front lawn was full of flower beds that contained what their title had: flowers. And lots of them. It made you want to throw up.

"We're here," Levi announced.

You grabbed your things and prepared yourself for another short term at the new house and opened the car door, stepping out. Levi walked around the car to stand beside you. You pretty much towered over the midget by a few inches. He was short as hell. But intimidating. Like a chihuahua when you took its overcooked hotdog away from it. You shuddered from experience.

Suddenly the front door of the house burst open, swinging and trembling on its hinges. A tall woman stepped out in a long spring floral dress. Her sandaled feet clacked against the stone pathway as she scurried to you. Her hair was a wild mess, her glasses were as crooked as her grin, and the most terrifying part of all was that she was holding a knife.

Instinctively you turned around and opened the car door hurriedly and slipped in, pushing down the little lock in place before the mad woman could get any closer. Levi watched you and didn't even move to stop you as you escaped into his car. The woman stopped beside the social worker, peering through the glass at your startled gaze.

"Shy, aren't we?" was all she said.

Levi took a step back from the tall woman. "Miss. Zoe, please put that away."

Miss. Zoe looked at him quizzically until she realized what he was speaking about. She held up the knife. "Ohh. My carving knife. Sorry about that." She placed the knife in her dress pocket and turned to the car window, taping on the glass. "You can come out; I won't hurt you!"

You didn't really believe her. As long as Levi patted her down and got rid of the weapon, then you weren't coming out. You slid across the back seats away from the window, eyeing this crazy woman. She straightened and placed her fists on her hips. She turned to Levi and asked, "What's her name again?"

"_," you answered for her before Levi could. "_ _." You used your last name this time.

"What a nice name! I'm Miss. Hanji Zoe, but you can call me Hanji."

You eyed her for a few seconds, contemplating weather you should get out of the car or stay in it where you were certain it was safe. She _could_ stab you. But then again, she wouldn't. But she could…

"Hey, brat, get out of the car. I've got places to be and I'd rather not be late," Levi said, narrowing his dark eyes.

Rolling your eyes, you opened the door on the other side and stepped out, slinging your pack over your shoulder. You shut the door loudly and walked around the side and stood beside Levi.

"Alright then. I'm going," he said, going back into the driver's seat.

You watched him drive away in his black Subaru until he was just a speck on the horizon.

"_, come on! Let me show you around," Hanji said, beckoning for you to follow her into the house. She babbled as she lead you up the stone path.

"I hope you don't mind all the clutter; I have a lot more logs behind the house. I like to carve, which explains the knife. I was in the middle of making a little elephant when you came. Sometimes my friend Moblit comes over to help me. He's such a kind guy!"

You paused outside her door as she stepped in. This was your new foster home. You figured you wouldn't last long in here; maybe even beat your record. She was a weird lady. Sighing, you stepped inside.

The living room was large with a fifty inch flat screen and colorful floral couches that matched Hanji's dress. The walls were colored a pale yellow. The windows illuminated the color even more, making it pop. All along the walls were pictures of children, smiling and playing and laughing without a care in the world. Along the windowsills were little carved animals and people, painted for better detail. You picked a carving of a boy walking a dog, both frozen mid-step. The detail on the fur of the dog looked as if it were actually bouncing with its movements, as well as the boy's hair and clothes. The detail on his face was excruciatingly realistic; lips curved in a smile, the crinkle of skin by the eyes, the way the eyes glowed.

"I just love to carve my foster children in my spare time. It's fun and really gets my hands working," Hanji continued, pressing a hand against your back to lead you to the kitchen. _Carve? In what way?_ You stepped into the kitchen and glanced all over. The marble countertop stood in the centre of the long room. It was pretty much normal, with the regular kitchen appliances and a dining table. She showed you the rest of the house, occasionally seeing a flash of ginger.

"It's my cat, Sawney," Hanji explained. "I have a dog, too. His name is Bean. He's sleeping upstairs."

As if on cue, a flash of brown and black fur sped down the stairs straight at you. Bean tackled you to the ground. He licked your face and neck, humongous paws on your chest. You couldn't resist laughing; it was contagious. When was the last time you laughed like this?

_It's been a while…_

"Bean! No, get off of _," Hanji ordered, pulling at his collar. The German Shepard sat down, letting you stand and wipe your face.

"It's okay," you spoke quietly.

She smiled warmly at you. "You should laugh more. It'll help."

You nodded, understanding, but laughing still felt guilty. How could you be enjoying life when your mother and little sister were dead and your father was a recovering alcoholic? You urged the horrible memories of the accident away.

So far, Hanji's home consisted of four empty rooms on the top two floors, the room on the bottom floor belonging to hers, a grand backyard with an oak tree and a stack of logs, a cluttered front lawn, three birdhouses, two pets, and a partridge in a pear tree. The last one was just for reasons.

Your room was on the top floor. It was much more roomy than your last bedroom. There were three tall windows at the front of the room where it faced the front lawn. Your queen sized bed stood in the corner, a nightstand right beside it and a wardrobe in front of the bed. It was a nice room, you realized, but what made it even better was the drawing table in front of the window. It was perfect. You laid your sketchbooks and supplies in the table's drawers and opened the wardrobe, finding it already filled with clothes of your size. And style. Nothing that attracted too much attention.

You sat at the drawing desk, spinning around in the wheely chair. You stared out the window, bored. You didn't want to be in foster homes. You didn't want to stay with this crazy ass woman. But she did have a pretty cool place, you had to admit that. But you'd rather be at home, alone. You knew you could support yourself. But the social workers didn't think a fifteen year old girl with problems couldn't. You ignored them anyway; your first foster home ended up in a disaster as you had tried to runaway and proceeded to continuously attempt to. No matter how fast you walked or ran, police cars would always be faster than you.

And louder. God those things caused a lot of attention.

Sighing, you stood from the chair and flopped onto the bed, crossing your arms behind your back. You shut your eyes, hoping you could take a nap. You soon found yourself slipping into the depths of sleep.

-  
><em>Your alarm was beeping. You wanted it to shut the fuck up, but you couldn't move. The beeping became louder as it neared, and you realized it wasn't your alarm, but a police siren. Lots of them. The place reeked of gasoline and oranges. All you could see was darkness. Suddenly you remembered what had happened; the truck, the cell phone ringing, the speed, and the impact. What had happened to your mother and little baby sister?<em>

_"_," you croaked, calling for your little sister._

_There was no answer._

_Your eyes cracked open. Broken glass everywhere, cuts and bruises on your mom and sister, the windshield broken into pieces. You turned to your sister, who sat in her booster seat, head hanging limply on her shoulder. Blood dripped from her temple where it collided with the window._

_"_?" you asked, panic rising inside of you. "_! Mom?! Mom!"_

_There was never going to be an answer._  
><em>-<em>

Your eyes snapped open, wide and terrified at the memory. They quickly returned to their normal annoyed state.

_Napping is not good,_ you stated to yourself.

"Fucking tease," you muttered, pressing a shaky palm to your forehead.

"_!" called Hanji from downstairs, making you jump. "Come on down; there's someone I want you to meet!"

Still dazed from the dream, you looked out the window to find it almost dark outside. You got up from the bed with a grunt and ran down the stairs, jumping down the last three to annoy Hanji. It didn't really faze her, it seems.

A tall man sat on the far couch. You eyed the man as he smiled at you and stood. He towered over you and you swallowed. His brown parted hair made him look much like a business man and reminded you much of Erwin, who was director of Social Security and made sure to put all children in good care.

"This is Moblit!" Hanji said.

You shook the man's hand as he greeted you. "Hello."

You grunted back. Hanji beamed at you before suggesting, "Why don't you explore the neighborhood? There's a little woods nearby; just don't stay out too long." You were pretty sure now she was just trying to get rid of you.

Exploring didn't seem bad, though. You nodded and rushed upstairs to snatch a light sweater from the closet, not really caring to choose properly. Your mistake; it was bright orange. Looking at the color made you want to throw up. A lot of things made you want to throw up. You quickly tightened the shoe laces on your sneakers and fixed your shorts before heading out.

With your hands shoved in your pockets, you walked along the sidewalk in the cool March air. The sun was going down, but it would be about an hour or two before it would be too dark to walk around. The neighborhood you were currently living in was pretty quiet; no kids other than yourself, you figured, living on the street. You turned the corner where the street ended and found the woods Hanji was talking about. Now intruded by nature, you stepped forward, entering the woods.

The trees were mostly maple and oak. You tried not to walk very loudly but the vegetation on the ground made your steps louder than you hoped for. You finally came upon a small clearing where a creek split it in two. A blossom tree swayed in the wind by the water source, its pink and white flowers flittering in the breeze. Discarded petals lay here and there, more fluttering to the ground from the tree's branches. The trunk of the tree was thick, you noted, and even from this distance you could see how large it was. You breathed in, closing your eyes and letting the wind tousle your hair. You opened them, calmer than you were before. Maybe you could get used to it here…

_No,_ you scolded yourself for thinking that. Like hell you'd like it in a foster home. _Especially this one;_ _crazy ass woman and her animals._ You began contemplating weather or not to "loose" some chocolate on the floor or in Bean's food bowl, walking towards the little creek. As you neared, you were able to peer around the trunk, and you saw someone propped up against it.

You froze. Was that person here the whole time? Didn't they hear you noisily trampling the _whole damn woods?_ Seriously, it was like you were waking the whole place up. You edged closer to the person, eyes glancing all over. You came to the conclusion that it was a man, no a boy, no a teen. You stood in front of him. What the hell? His head hung limply over his shoulder.

An image of your little sister in her car seat sitting in the same position as him appeared in your mind and you willed it away.

You squatted, taking in his features. His hairstyle looked strange to you: brown copper hair and shaved sideburns and most of the back of his head. His eyes were closed, portraying that he was asleep. He looked peaceful. His dark eyebrows furrowed in his sleep but then relaxed. You leaned closer, curious. Your (e/c) orbs gazed along the side of his long angular face, following his jaw. _Who the fuck takes naps in the forest_, you thought. _This guy was weird,_ you concluded. Maybe he was some sort of nature hippie or something of that sort. Save the forest, brah. Groovy.

You eyed his clothing. A tan leather jacket was draped over his arm. He was only in a short sleeved shirt, and you wondered if he was cold. Even if it was spring, the wind and night air was still a little chilly. You straightened, feeling like some sort of weird stalker that stares at guys all day. With a last glance over your shoulder, you walked to the creek. The sound of water splashing and moving slowly was hypnotizing. Combined with the warm air, hot sun, and cool breeze, it was pretty much intoxicating. You could listen to it all day. You looked at the other side of the clearing. It was much darker over there and the vegetation was especially thick and gnarly there. You squinted, tempted to step over the creek. You lifted your foot, contemplating weather or not you should go.

"I wouldn't go over there if I were you."

You turned around, gazing at the man. He was no longer sitting upright against the tree, for now he stood by it, a hand pressed against it as if he needed it for balance. You glanced all over the tall man before looking back up to his eyes. They were a beautiful shade of brown, almost golden, with a darker brown by the iris.

"I'm Jean," he greeted.

"And I don't care." You stepped across the creek, not caring that he had just told you not to do so.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing, idiot?" you snapped, glancing at Jean. You liked his name; _Ja-awn._ A hard G followed by a yawn. French?

"You shouldn't go over there," he called to you.

"Yeah, and people shouldn't just randomly sleep in forests."

"Geez, attitude." He let out a low whistle. "This is a free country; I can sleep wherever I want."

You turned around to glare at him and continued walking.

"H-hey!" You heard Jean run to you. He stepped in front of you, blocking your way. "What did I just tell you? You shouldn't go in there; it's really dangerous."

You glowered at him some more before turning around and stalking back to the tree. He followed you with a sigh of relief.

"Hey, um, I haven't seen you around here," he said. "What's your name?"

"Why do you need to know?"

"Well, I told you mine so its only fair that you tell me yours."

You stepped over the creek and turned around to face him. "I didn't ask for your name."

He narrowed his eyes, annoyed. "Sheesh, you're making it really hard for me not to curse you out right now, considering I just met you."

"I have that effect on guys."

He chuckled. "Did you just move here?"

You stared at him blankly. "_," you said, not really answering this question.

"Hah?"

"My name is _."

"Ah, there we go. See, that wasn't so hard!"

_God he was so fucking annoying._

"Oh shut up," you exhaled, turning away. You decided to make your way back home now, exploring mood now killed because of this guy.

"I'm pretty sure you didn't move here. There hasn't anyone that's left the neighbor hold. Plus, I haven't seen your face around these streets, meaning you're not from around here. I should know, I've lived here all my life."

"I didn't ask for your life story, Jean," you growled, ducking beneath a branch.

He rolled his eyes.

"And what's with all the questions?" you asked, glancing back at him.

"I'm just curious! I've never seen you before in my life and you just magically pop up out of nowhere."

He eyed you for a moment before something caught his eye. "What's that?" he asked quietly, pointing at a long scar on your arm and a yellowing bruise beside it, peeking out from behind your sweater.

_Shit,_ you thought as you covered it.

"Nothing," you snapped. Oh god, what if he had seen more of them?

He rolled his eyes and snapped back, "Well, I'm sorry for asking."

"Whatever," you replied. "I'd like to get home now, so if you don't mind…" You could hear the edge in your voice.

"Okay, okay. Geez Louise." Jean put his hands up in a_'whoa nelly'_ expression.

You stepped out of the woods, leaving the weird guy behind before he could even register that you left and crossed the street to the sidewalk. But you didn't notice that he was watching you, curious as you were about him as he was about you.

Weirdos, you thought, as you opened the door to Hanji's home. As you stepped in you heard laughter and Moblit was walking towards you, the door, carrying his sweater. He held out a hand and you shook it as he said, "Until next time, _." Then he was gone. Who says that these days? It's fucking 2013.

"Uh, yeah, toodles," you muttered back as he stepped out.

You closed the door and locked it, heading into the kitchen were Hanji was. The smell of macaroni was in the air. You noticed Hanji was hunched over by the stove, pulling out a long pan. "Here we are!" she sighed.

"Oh, _, back so soon?"

You didn't reply, just sat down at the dining table because you were hungry. She straightened and laid the pan on the table. Macaroni, peas, and ham. It looked a little burnt by the edges, but overall looked pretty edible. Hanji sat down across from you and laid two plates on the table, one for you and one for her, as well as cups. She filled them with lemonade and plopped macaroni on the plates. She leaned back in her chair and glanced all over your face.

You raised an eyebrow questionably.

"How was it?" she asked, picking up her fork. You did the same and tried the macaroni, which was surprisingly decent. It may be a little too cheesy though…

"It was fine," you said simply.

"Hmm. Hey, did you know I'm a scientist?"

You shook your head lightly and continued eating, staring at your food. Great, another life story from the Crazy Ass Woman Who's Now a Mad Scientist.

"I study mutants and genetics. So far, I've been working on this mutant animal we can't identify. We called it Titan," she babbled. "I'm pretty there are lots more…!" That was when you stopped listening. Her face light up with glee as she talked nonstop about the experiments they performs at the lab.

For some reason, that annoying son of a bitch was still in your mind. Jean. Maybe you would see him more often now. Did he live on the street? You thought there were no kids on the street. Were there?

"Hanji," you spoke up, cutting her off.

"Hm?"

"Are there any other kids who live on this street?" you asked, meeting her gaze for the first time during dinner.

"Ah, sure! There's Eren, Mikasa, and Jean. You're the only teenager at the moment. Mikasa is Eren's adoptive sister. Jean lives with his family across the street from us. Eren and him fight a lot often."

Oh? So he lived right across from you. Who were these other people though?

Hanji's voice interrupted your thoughts as she went on. "I'm not sure if its actually true, but I heard Jean's best friend disappeared. Those two were like peas in a pod. He doesn't talk to anyone anymore. Not even his parents or his teachers. I think he knows it's hopeless that the police won't find his friend."

You looked up in interest. Huh? Something clicked in your mind for a second. Maybe he was more like you than you realized. How did it feel to lose your best friend? You only had one, but she moved away a long time ago before the accident. You never heard from her again.

"What happened to his friend?" you asked, now getting more and more interested in this guy.

"He disappeared one day. Never saw him again."

You turned back to your meal, choosing not to ask anything more or else she'll notice that you were interest in him.

"I saw him," you said.

"Hm? Where?"

"Woods. He was asleep. Talked to him."

"Really? You got him talking?" Hanji stuck out her lower lip in thought. "His mother told me he hasn't spoken for more than eight months. How did you get him talking?"

You paused for a moment before answering. "I didn't get him talking. He told me not to cross the creek. I did and he tried to get me to turn back. I eventually did and we started talking. He started asking questions."

"Strange…"

There was silence as you two took in the information. You took a few more bites of your dinner before Hanji announced, "You're going to school."

You glared up at her._School?_

"I know the other foster homes had you stay at home but education is important. You start next week. Let's see, today is…Thursday. So in a few days. In the meantime, I'll let you adjust here."

Great. Now you had to worry about high school? But coming in at almost the end of the year? Into tenth grade?

"Why so late in the school year?" you asked, incredulous.

"Oh stop, you'll manage."

"What high school?"

"Sina. There are three schools in the area. Maria: the elementary school, Rose: the middle school, and Sina: the high school."

You groaned, but then moaned when you tasted the lemonade. Bless the gods; lemonade this good should be illegal in all states.

"I make the best lemonade in town!" Hanji boasted, pleased with your reaction. You gulped down more of the yellow sugary goodness. "You know, in the summer we have contests. I've been having a three year streak!"

You wanted to say something in return, like that that was really cool, but you were too busy draining your cup. You set it down with clink and sighed, pleased.

"More macaroni?"

You nodded, eyes half lidded.

The whole meal was mostly spent getting to know Hanji. It was weird getting to know a foster parent since you never really spoke with any of your past ones. Hanji's hobbies were carving, playing her piccolo, water skiing, tennis, and an assortment of other sports with names you couldn't pronounce. Everyday (except holidays and days off when she's not needed) Hanji goes to the lab across town from six in the morning till seven thirty. When days were especially busy, she would stay late until eleven or so. Hanji was also a huge fan of Elvis. You later realized this when you saw her room, which was full of Elvis merchandise, posters, framed pictures with him signature ("My grandmother got those for my mother, who later passed them onto me!"), and even a plush. Seemed like the obsession over Elvis ran in the family. As you sat in the living room surfing through the channels, you heard Hanj play an album of his while washing the dishes.

_"…body in the whole cell block, was dancing to the jail house rock…,"_you heard her sing along. A small smile played across your lips as you pressed the off button, standing and heading upstairs.

Your room was dark when you reached it. Flipping on the switch, you closed the door behind you and walked to the windows, grabbing onto the curtains. You stared out the window for a moment, watching the last bit of pink erased from the sky and replaced with the black of the night. Across the street stood a brick house with a black shingles roof, yellow light streaming from the windows. In the fading light, you glanced across the lawn quickly, taking in the bike that was casted off recklessly. The front door of the house opened and your gaze flicked to it. Someone stepped out carrying a garbage bag. As the last of the light faded, your eyes settled on copper brown hair before Jean's head turned and his gaze rested on your window, where you stood. You cringed as his eyes landed on yours and you pulled on the curtains, covering the windows. You flopped onto your bed, reaching for your phone on your nightstand. You browsed the Internet before nodding off to sleep, though your last thought was,

_God dammit._

_**Hello hello! First Jean x Reader insert! HooorAAAAAY **_

_**How do Jean's personality?**_

_**Anyway, please review, it'll help me a lot. Hope you like this because we're going on a wild ride and I'm going to hell for writing such an angsty fic.**_

_**Rating may change but: Trigger warnings, violence, talk of suicide.**_

_**Okey doke see you next time.**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Feel New Chapter Two: Drawing's A Fucking Tease and You Feel Like A Stalker**

_"When she was just a girl__  
><em>_She expected the world,__  
><em>_But it flew away from her reach,__  
><em>_And the bullets catch in her teeth"_  
><strong>-Coldplay "Paradise"<strong>

The sound of a pencil falling to the floor snapped you out of your trance. You blinked, confused for moment, but then you remembered that your were in your room, attempting to draw. Creating things on paper got a lot more difficult since you had witnessed the end for many things.

_Day Two at Crazy Ass Woman's house: I still haven't tried to kill anything. Or try to run away. Or destroy something. Haven't seen that weird guy so far. I think he's at school, since it is Friday._

You looked back at the white page in front of you, which was waiting patiently for you to lower your hand and sketch some lines. You were sure that if it were alive that it would be glaring at you for you to start. Nonetheless, you still haven't been able to draw anything in the past hour. It was difficult; it seemed so much better in your head, but on paper, it wasn't really the same. This was your pet peeve: not being able to portray your ideas the way you wanted them to. Suddenly, a new burst of motivation made you hunch over.

You stared at the page as your hands sketched lines from here to there, connecting and erasing and brushing off and smudging and more erasing. You snatched your color pencils and began overlapping your sketch in a primary color, your masterpiece now onto its second stage. With your watercolor pencils, you added layer after layer of color, then added water to a brush and gently stroked over the pencil marks, the marks dissolving into something that looked like actual water color. A splash of color there, a pencil mark here, and you glared at the white paper in disgust because you still hadn't even drawn a single thing.

Damn imagination.

Sighing, you laid the pencil down and looked at your other pieces in the sketchbook. Most of them were still art or abstract, but some were of your own imagination and morbid thoughts. The last drawing you made was four months ago on the day of the accident. You stared at the drawing, a drawing of your little sister laughing in her booster seat, and the horrendous line that trailed from her unfinished hand to the top corner of the page. It was as if someone had jerked your hand suddenly, causing it to draw a line across the page. That actually did happen, except it wasn't a hand, but truck full of oranges that had slammed into the side of your mom's car.

Why did you keep this drawing anyway? It would always remind you of that horrible day. But it felt like that if you tore that page away, or scribbled all over, or erased it, that it would still be there. Yes, it would still be there. The imprints of the pencil would be on the next page, and if you erased it, there was only so much that pink rubber could do. If you scribbled it out, there would still be the outline of the drawing, like a layer below the scribbles that you couldn't press the invisible icon to make it go away.

Yes, it would always be there, but not on the pages of your sketchbook, but on the never ending sketchbook of your memories.

You closed the book and stared out the window, taking in the bright sun high above the houses. You looked across the room to your nightstand, where a digital clock sat.

12:06

Sighing through your nose in boredom, you laid your chin on the desk, arms reaching for the window in front of you and fumbling with the latch. You pushed the window open and closed your eyes as a warm breeze entered your room and brushed your face.

_So nice…_,you thought, closing your eyes.

Your days spent at Hanji's foster home slowly dragged on. You didn't know what to do but take walks, eat, watch television, or attempt to draw. Hanji didn't really make you do chores since she still wanted you to adjust to the house. Hell, you couldn't find the bathroom sometimes. Or even your own room. The house was _huge_anyway.

Nights were spent tossing and turning. You never really adjusted to any foster home, so sleeping was always a problem. Thoughts and memories never left your mind. You mostly stated awake at night, staring out the window of the ceiling, trying to fall asleep. The first few weeks after the accident, you always ended up asleep after long hours of crying, trying to cope with the fear of being alone and no longer having your dear mother and innocent baby sister. You didn't speak with anyone in that period of grieving and loss. It was terrible loosing something that had always been there your whole life.

You listened to your breathing for a while. You still weren't able to cope with the fear and loss. You still haven't gotten over it. Not yet. Possibly never. Because on days when you felt fine, felt at peace and content, the little black cat of your mind would come back to bite and scratch away at you, reminding you that it still had claws and fangs and it wasn't always going to be all cuddly and a purring mess.

_More like a hissing and spitting mess,__you thought bitterly, scrunching up your face for a moment._

You opened your eyes and reached for the window, hands grasping for the blue sky with puffy cotton clouds that looked liked they were pulled out recklessly from a pillow and the shining gold orb in the sky. You grasped the sky in your hands, holding onto the air, holding onto the only thing keeping you alive. All this _god damn grief_. You wondered if dying now would save you and the people around you from a lot of trouble…No one would miss you, right? Dad was too drunk too care…

"No," you said aloud to yourself. "Don't think that way."

You were right; thinking like that would get you into another doctor's office. You thought of your last psychiatrist, which, like a lot of of things, ending up in a disaster. Well, for the psychiatrist. After breaking the tips of all of his pencils while waiting in his office as he spoke to your foster parent, you snuck out his window and ran away back to social services, where you knew Levi would be waiting. You had a complicated relationship with him, you realized. Despite him always calling you 'brat', you knew he felt sorry for you about what you were going through. You lied to the people working at social services that your foster parents were not taking care of you. Naturally, they believed you though you were pretty sure they shouldn't have. You always thought Levi had something to do with letting you go to another foster home.

Even if you really didn't want to.

That was your 5th foster home. Now you were on número ocho, number eight. Hanji Zoe. The Crazy Ass Woman With A Collection of Carving Knives.

You rolled your pencil aimlessly on the tabletop, watching it fall over the edge.

"_!" screamed a voice from two floors down, though it sounded like it came from right beside your ear. You jumped and pushed away from the table in a hurry, worried for a moment Hanji was hurt or something. Still very startled, you fell off your chair and crawled to the door, opening it a crack.

"_!"

You banged your head on the door, once again surprised as fuck by her sudden call. Cringing, you stood and slipped out of your room, descending from the stairs into the living room.

"Hanji?" you called. Her head popped into view from the kitchen.

"Ah! Come on, grab your coat and head outside."

You raised your eyebrows.

"We're going to look around town! Go sight seeing, shop, get you some school supplies, eat ice cream, whatever you want!"

You paused for a moment. Whoa, what the fuck? Is she actually letting you decide where to spend her money? Let me repeat that: _her_money. Not _yours_ because you don't have any, but _hers._

Is this a dream come true?

Smiling slightly at Hanji, you raced upstairs and grabbed your sweater (choosing carefully this time so you don't have to get something that will make you throw up) and your phone and ran back down, breathless. Hanji stood in her regular floral dress and sandals, only she wore a nice blue cardigan and a sun hat. She twirled her car keys around her finger and tugged at her purse strap that was slung across her shoulder. She beamed at you before heading for the door.

"Yahooo!" she cried cheerfully, raising her arms in rapture.

You scurried after her out the door and locked it for her as she made a beeline for the car, which was a bright yellow…_convertible?_With the black hood still on.

_Groovy,_you thought sarcastically as you neared, finding Elvis bumper stickers on the car.

But the real Elvis fan club was inside the car. Your eyes widened when you sat in the passenger seat, gazing around, hand still on the open door beside you. All over the dashboard of the car was Elvis merchandise: bobble heads, mats, and figurines. Piled below your seat were a stack of more albums and cassettes._Hell,_there was even a little poster hanging over the backs of each of the seats of the King of Rock. Hanji closed the car door with a sigh, gazing around at her cult of Elvises.

"Hello my dears!" she chirped.

"Well now we know who's the crazy one," you muttered, but you were smiling. Something about her happiness made you feel the same way. It was fucking contagious, that grin on her face. She made you feel glee, for some reason. It blossomed inside of you, the warm and tickling sensation brought back after months of hibernation.

Hanji giggled, playing one of her cd's and beginning to drive. You watched your foster home grow smaller in the distance until it was no longer there. You turned back around and faced forward, facing what was coming in the future.

A hell of a lot shopping, that was for sure.

—  
>"Hanji!" you groaned, straining from all the bags you were carrying. This was only the second store you were going to and she already bought you enough clothes to last a whole year. It wasn't like you were going to stay there for that long or anything.<p>

Hanji led you across the street to a small shop with a sign that said, 'Arlert's'. "This won't take long, I promise! Then we can put the bags in the car and go grab a bite to eat, kay?"

"Yeah, sure, let's just hurry, please," you whined.

You followed her into the small shop, bells jingling. It was a little bookstore, you realized, when you entered. Carrying your load of bags, you followed Hanji to the front desk. A blond teenage boy stood behind the register, helping a costumer check out. Once the woman left, Hanji took her place and beamed at the boy. "Hey Armin! Where's your Grandfather?"

"Hello, Hanji," he said politely. "He's not here today. Had to fix something back at home so he let me come and run the store."

You peered around Hanji's shoulder and stared at Armin, looking at the second teenage boy since you got here. He had chin length blond hair and bright blue eyes. His eyes were wide, like a deer's. He caught your gaze and smiled politely at you. You deadpanned him, not smiling back. You weren't sure what to make of this guy.

"Um, hello," he greeted. "I'm Armin."

"_," you replied simply, turning sideways and pretending to be interested in the books behind you.

"Oh, ah, okay," Armin looked quizzically at Hanji for an explanation.

"Don't mind her; she's my new foster kid! She's so nice," she sighed, grinning. You felt Armin's stare practically boring a hole into your skull.

"So, do you have the book I ordered?" Hanji asked him.

You stopped listening there, bored. You opened a book and leafed through its pages, only vaguely interested in what it contained. Your little sister liked to read, you remembered sadly. You used to read to her all the time. She would annoy you so much to read to her, but only because of the different voices and sound effects you made for each character. It made her want to read all the time. You closed the book and breathed in, not wanting to deal with the memories here.

"_?"

You turned around. "Hm?"

Hanji smiled at you, knowing that you had remembered something. "Why don't you talk with Armin for a while? He could tell you about the high school? I'll be quick to get what I need, mkay?"

She left before you could even reply. You turned back to Armin, who stood awkwardly behind the counter. You two stared at each other, not really liking the fact that you were both forced to talk with each other.

"Erm," he spoke up, scratching the back of his neck. "So you're Hanji's new foster kid, huh?"

You raised an eyebrow. Who the fuck just says it so casually? _Yeah, I lost my mom and little sister in a car accident and my dad is too drunk to give a fuck about me, no biggie._ What did he want you to say?

He bit his lip, glancing around at anything but you, cheeks aflame.

Sighing, you spoke up quietly, "How's the high school?"

You caught him off guard, it seems, by the look on his face. "Huh?" he asked.

"How's the high school?" you repeated. "Since I'm starting school Monday."

"Oh. Wow, that late into the school year? You might as well not even come to school. Um, it's really fun actually. We have the regular stuff, ya know, like dances and proms. At the end if every school year we have a little celebration since everyone loves summer here. The celebration is open to everyone. It's really cool. And the classes we have at school are great. The teaches are awesome."

You nodded your head, though you were only half listening. That Jean guy just randomly popped up in your head. Did he go to the high school? Of course he did, that was the only high school in town. But it was a small town, so.

"You look like you want to ask me something but are wondering if you should or shouldn't," Armin said with a faint smile. You met his gaze. _The perceptive little bastard,_ you thought.

"Do you know…a guy named Jean?"

Armin's smile wavered for a moment, and then all together vanished. His eyes grew wider and filled with curiosity and something else you couldn't pinpoint. Pity? Sadness? "Jean? Do you know him?"

"You could say that."

"Oh. Yeah, of course I know him. Why?"

"Just asking. No need to get so stiff, man."

"O-oh. Okay." He cleared his throat nervously and relaxed like he just avoided a conversation he didn't want to have, which was pretty much true.

Just then, Hanji appeared from the bookcases and back to the register holding an assortment of books. "I'll takes these along with my order, Armin!"

"Oh, yes, of course!" he beamed, quickly entering the prices on the computer. After a few more taps and glances at the prices on the books, he said to Hanji, "That'll be $43.90."

After Hanji paid, she waved goodbye to Armin and you followed her back to the car, where you dropped the bags into the trunk with a sigh. You sat in the passenger's seat as Hanji went around the car. She pressed a button and the hood slowly came off.

"Nice," you breathed as the warm air was now present.

"Cool, huh? Hey, do you wanna get some ice cream? I know this really great place by the river!"

You paused. When had going to a foster home been this…fun? It felt like you were actually part of a family again, like your old life. It was nice, being like that again. You hoped you could stay up and watch movies like you used to, or read storybooks to each other in funny voices and creative sound effects. Hanji was really something if she could crack your shell, and right now, there was dent in it. But it would crack.

"_?" she asked, worry streaked across her face.

You gave her a smile, a real genuine smile, and said, "Let's go stuff ourselves fat with the cream of ice."

And then Hanji proceeded to pump her fist into the air, chanting, "Cream of ice! Cream of ice! Cream of ice!"

Soon enough, you had joined her.

The drive to the parlor was fast; the river was really close by. Hanji parked the car before you stepped out, the aroma of water and nature in the air. You gazed around, surprised by the parlor's location. A few feet below you was the river, which rushed by calmly. The parlor was just above it on the ridge. It was pretty…remote. You watched the birds fly through the sky, calling to each other. A dragonfly buzzed by you, wings flapping quickly. You followed Hanji inside the ice cream parlor, sneakers making scuffing sounds on the gravel.

The bell jingled when you entered. Only a few people were inside eating despite the heat outside. The ceiling fans twirled slowly as soft music played. The walls were painted with red and white stripes, booths, tables, and chairs matching the red strips. The counters were marble and looked really shiny. You could practically see your reflection. High stools stood by the counters, only a few people occupying them. The bustle of employees moving around behind the counters could be heard.

"How may I help you today, Hanji?" spoke a relaxed voice from behind the register. It was a woman with red shoulder length hair. Her wide hazel eyes glanced between you and Hanji, a smile curving the corners of her mouth and creating little crinkles by her eyes. The woman was short as hell, maybe even shorter than Levi.

"Ah! Hello, Petra. Nice to see you again," Hanji spoke, smiling at the other woman. You stood a little off to the side, glancing around the parlor. Your eyes quickly scanned the menu, and you noted that they not only served ice cream, but milkshakes, margaritas, and few other select food choices. But the margaritas caught your eye. _What the fuck is a margarita,_you thought.

"Hey, Petra, meet _, my new foster kid," Hanji said, gesturing to you. You glanced down from the menu to Petra, who smiled warmly at you, pity in her eyes. There it was again: that pity that would always be there whenever someone said "foster child". You gave her a slight smiled before waving a little.

"Nice to meet you, _." Petra beamed at you some more. Her teeth were incredibly white.

"See anything you like, _?" your foster parent asked.

Immediately, your eyes flickered to the margarita on the menu. You pointed to it. "What's that?"

"Oh~! A margarita?" Petra suddenly seemed interested in your choice. "It's a slushie that contains everything an alcoholic drink would have, only without the alcohol."

You nodded. "I'll have that."

Hanji slammed a ten dollar bill on the counter. "Give me the regular, Captain Ral!"

Petra saluted her tall friend. "Straight away, Commander!" And with that, she disappeared into the kitchen.

_Captain Ral?_

Commander?

They were so god damn childish despite them being adults. You rolled your eyes despite the smile. You haven't been smiling this frequently before…

"Hello? _, I asked you something."

You blinked, snapped out of your trance by your foster parent. "Hm?"

"I asked if you would like to go home after this."

You looked around the store and your eyes settled on a clock. 2:44…

"Yeah, sure," you said.

Soon Petra returned with a cup full of green slush and a large double scoop cone with chocolate and coconut shavings on top as well as hot fudge. You decided not to judge the weird looking cone. You stared at your margarita, taking in the snow like drink. You tipped the cup over and took a sip, ice and lime flavored slush dripping into your mouth. You shivered as the ice touched your mouth, pleased to find that the drink was a hell of lot better than you thought. You placed it on your list of 'Foods I Would Eat Nonstop Until I Die.'

Petra grinned at your reaction. "Great, right? Stop by anytime! See you guys later!"

As you walked back to the car, you couldn't stop stealing sips from the cup. You couldn't really walk and drink at the same time, so you paused every single step to sip at the delicious fluid. Oh god this should be so fucking illegal right now.

"Hurry up, _!" Hanji urged playfully.

"Don't get your panties in a twist!" you called back, running to the passenger seat. The ride home was spent mostly in silence while you consumed your foods, caught up in the delectable food. It was a short ride home, and you even managed to get home before 3:00.

You stared at your empty cup in your room, almost feeling a single tear fall down from your eyes as you came to the horrifying realization that you no longer had anymore of your drink, for you had drank it all. You crushed the cup and flung it across your room to the trash can, where it plopped into its target. With a noise of success, you spun around in your wheely chair and pulled yourself to your drawing desk. Sighing, you picked up a pencil from the floor and opened the sketchbook, the tip of your pencil touching the paper. You pulled back to reveal a little faint mark. Groaning and stomping your feet in frustration, your eyes wandered outside your open window.

Since it was the end of the school day, you expected buses to be out. But on the drive home, you didn't really see any. Instead you saw walkers, clutching at their bookbags and listening to music, making sure to look both ways before crossing the street and not to talk to strangers. But there were no buses reeking of fuel and creating those loud squeaky groans and no bustling of children inside.

You watched as a pair of kids walked into the neighborhood, one a dark haired girl with a red scarf, the other a boy with dark brown hair and a nasty look on his face. They seemed to be bickering over something, and at one point the boy said rather loudly, "Mikasa!"

Oh. So these were the other kids on the street? Mikasa and…Eren, yeah. Oh and Jean. Where was he anyway…?

You glanced around the street before your gaze caught a copper haired boy walking slowly on the sidewalk, head lowered and eyes staring at the ground. He wore the same tan jacket from when you had first met him. Your gaze followed Jean as he walked, glancing all over him. He looked worn out and by the look on his face, annoyed. His face was scrunched up like he was deep in thought. What was going on in his little hippie mind?

_Gotta go sleep in another woods._You snickered to yourself.

You still watched him, not the other two kids, but only him. He was more interesting. How did it feel like to loose something that had always been there your whole life?

Wait, you already knew. It felt terrible, the fear and the loneliness. You still felt hollow inside. So incredibly hollow. The only thing that kept you alive was the air, and nothing else. No goals, no revenge, nothing. Just the air. Maybe that was the only thing he kept living on. But was there something else? Something that he hoped for? _Longed_ for?

You still watched him as he walked up his stone path to his brick house. You felt like some sort of weird stalker for watching him now, and you noticed how warm your cheeks felt. You slapped them lightly, trying to the get the feeling to go away. Jean entered his house and disappeared from your line of sight. Dammit, if only you had laser vision. It took you a moment to realized what you had just wished for.

Great, I really am some weird stalker, you thought, leaning back in your chair and burying in your sweater. You inhaled the scent of fabric softener and…oranges. You tore the sweater off and stuffed it the garbage, glaring daggers at the piece of damn fabric.

_No oranges are allowed anywhere near me,_ you declared to yourself.

You pressed a hand to your forehead, closing your eyes. Those _god damn_oranges… You wrinkled your nose. You used to love oranges. But ever since the accident, you couldn't stand them, or anything that had to do with those cursed citrus fruit. The smell of them to you was as unwelcome as someone blowing cigarette smoke in your face.

You opened your eyes and stretched, arms behind your head. Yawning, you went downstairs to the kitchen in hopes Hanji would be making dinner. She was, but was only getting the ingredients out. You guessed lasagna.

"Oh, _. Want to help?" she asked. You nodded and went to the sink to wash your hands.

"I'm not going to let you laze around while your here," the woman said, bending over to grab a large rectangular pan from a cabinet. "I'll have you do chores around the house. But for now, you can do something simple, like keeping your room clean or washing the dishes."

"Seems fun," you remarked.

"Oh, it is!"

You helped Hanji prepare the lasagna. You actually found yourself enjoying spending time with Hanji. She was always trying to lighten your mood, or have you do something. She was always treating you as if she had known you for years, like you were old friends. You smiled to yourself as you cut the tomatoes, lost in thought. Maybe you could stay a while. Hanji was so much different than the other foster parents. But you still couldn't shake off the fact of why you were here in the first place. And what about that weird kid, Jean?

You felt something push between your legs, and you looked down to see Bean trying to get a closer look at what you were doing. The German Shepard let out a light bark and you rubbed his head. He kicked your hand in response. You heard a meow behind you and saw Sawney on the tiled floor, pawing at the air. He purred and mewled, wanting something. You looked back at the pile of ingredients you were cutting. You took a piece of cooked meat and gave it to the ginger cat. He snatched it from your grip and faced away, not even saying a 'thank you.' Bean pulled back from between your legs and ran after Sawney, excitement in his eyes.

You snorted. Hanji giggled beside you from where she was washing an onion. "They're great, huh?"

You nodded.

"You know, you're only my sixth foster kid."

You glanced at her sideways for her to continue.

She caught onto your memo and went on. "My first one was a little boy, age seven I think? That was when Bean was only about a year old. He was great; always running around and playing with the animals. He loved to help me out. I don't think you noticed, but his carving is on the windowsill in the living room, the one walking the dog."

Oh, you noticed. It was a beautiful sculpture. Hanji smiled contently to herself as she was lost in her memories. "I once had a kid like you, a girl who's life was tragic. She was like you: quiet, unapproachable, and quite rude."

You raised an eyebrow at her at the last one. Rude? Okay, maybe you were a little rude, giving how you first reacted with Jean and your other foster parents.

"I changed her. Made her more open. I'm hoping I could do the same for you, _." She turned to smile at you, pushing up her glasses on her nose. She turned the water off and placed the onion on the cutting board and reached for a knife. She began to hack away at the purple vegetable.

You lowered your eyes to your cutting board. She really was trying hard. You glanced back up to Hanji, finding her still smiling to herself.

"Hanji," you began. "Why do you do this? The foster home, I mean."

She paused a moment from her cutting to glance up at the ceiling. With a sigh of sadness, she turned to you. "I had a child once, a baby. She was born stillborn. I carried a dead baby for a months, thinking that she was alive. I couldn't have anymore, and when my husband found out, he left. I've always wanted a kid of my own. But I couldn't. So I decided to help other children. It's like having multiple children that aren't mine, but still bring the same joy."

She had a baby? How did it feel to loose something you wanted dearly? She hadn't bonded with the baby, but you could tell she was devastated when she found out her baby was born dead. You imagined her giving one final push and hoping to hear the cries of a baby, but instead there being a heavy silence, despair in the air.

"I'm sorry," you said quietly,"for asking."

Hanji laid a hand on yours, smiling sadly at you. "No, it's alright, honey. These are one of the things that you always need to tell, and you get used to that."

You nodded, understanding. When would you tell her about your story? Soon? Now? Never? You weren't really sure; talking about still brought back those terrifying memories. She knew you still needed time to make sure you wanted her to know. Maybe she already knew what had happened, maybe Levi had told her, but she didn't know the details.

You helped Hanji finish the lasagna in silence, placing the pan in the oven. You went back up stairs, waiting for dinner to come out hot and ready.

You closed your eyes, lying on your bed, arms behind your head acting as a pillow, today's events still going through your head.

You felt your shell crack.

_**Another chapter. Not much happened in this one, but next one I'll be sure to make the next chapter interesting. This chapter is more about the reader adjusting. I should be working on ch.10 for More Than a Whole Brigade but I just want to get this out of my hair.**_

_**I don't own Shingeki no Kyojin nor its characters.**_

_**You (eventually) belong to Jean.**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Feel New Chapter Three: The Garden's Rotting Sign**

_"It's my problem,_

_It's my problem_

_If I feel the need to hide._

_And it's my problem that I have no friends_

_And feel I want to die!"_

**-Marina and The Diamonds "Are You Satisfied?"**

Monday morning. A.K.A school. A.K.A _hell._

Hanji had you woken up early to get ready. It was weird going to school after such time you hadn't. _Four months._ You stood in your room, glaring at the wardrobe that held your clothing. Striding forward, you opened it and quickly picked and outfit, slapping it on. You didn't really care what it was unless it was clean. You did your regular routine like you remembered, before the accident.

The weekend had been spent mostly watching silent movies at the old theater in the centre of town. It was fun chatting with Hanji while watching the films and eating stale but pretty decent popcorn in the empty theater. There was no one there because the theater was already running out of business and was planning to be sold in a few months. You found yourself enjoying Hanji's company more and more as time went on, most of it spent with her. There were times you would go on walks or buy something from the convenience store, but more often than not, she would accompany you. You thought at first it had something to do with the bonding process, but then you realized there were some pretty weird guys that hung around the streets that would most likely choose not to ignore you.

You were just grateful she was there, because when some drunk guy was making catcalls, she whipped a bottle of nail polish at his head, knocking him out.

You wrote that down on your list on _'reasons why makeup isn't so useless'._

You were still against the thought of going to school. Why so late in the school year? You haven't been to school in a while and probably don't even know what the hell they're talking about. You probably won't even stay long at Hanji's. One moment you're here, the next you're off to some other home. But there was one thing that was itching at the back of your head. An upside. Maybe you could learn more about that Jean guy? Get him...talking again?

You shook your head. He probably won't open his mouth anymore to you. You were quite rude to him. But still: he talked to you first. You didn't say anything. And that was the problem. Why did he open his mouth after so long? Not even to his parents, family, or friends? Well, if he had friends, considering his best friend has vanished.

But there was something else bothering you. Why did he choose to talk to you? Was it maybe because he didn't want you to cross the creek? You thought of the woods on the other side of the water source, the bushes and trees thick, creating a gnarly barrier. It was mostly darkness over there. What was on the other side? Was it so important that he had to speak up after all those months just to tell you not to go over there? Maybe it really was dangerous, like he said.

Of maybe it has something to do with his friend's disappearance.

_Probably not,_ you thought, dismissing it quickly. You quickly made you way back downstairs to eat breakfast. Hanji stood in the kitchen, tossing and turning eggs in a pan as they sizzled and popped. She hummed another one of her Elvis songs. She glanced over her shoulder to you as you pulled back a chair at the dining table, sitting down.

"Ready for your first day of school, _?" she inquired cheerfully.

"You know...there's something called cyber school. Or maybe you could teach me here at home? You know, since you're a scientist and all..."

Hanji rolled her eyes. "Honey, you're going to school!" She turned back to the eggs and sprinkled pieces of ham into it. Your mouth watered at the sight. "This will probably be the only morning I'll be making you breakfast. I have to get to work at eight. You should be gone by then."

"You're not driving me to school?" you asked her as she set the plate down in front of you, as well as a cup of orange juice and an apple slice. You stared at the orange juice for a moment before setting it aside.

"I asked Eren if he could walk with you to school. He and Mikasa always walk, as well as Jean. He usually comes with them, but you know, won't talk. Eren will come by when its time to leave."

You glared at your orange juice some more before proceeding to take a bite of the apple. "Please get that orange juice away from me," you said quietly.

"It's healthy." Hanji looked confused for a moment at your tone.

_"Please,_" you urged, averting her gaze.

Hanji raised an eyebrow before complying. She placed the cup in the fridge before handing you a glass of water. She chose not to ask about the juice.

You quickly wolfed down the breakfast hungrily. Hanji was such a great cook...

Pretty soon, there was a knock on the door. You twisted around in your seat to look at Hanji. She smiled, holding your backpack. Sighing, you stood and slipped into the straps. She patted your shoulder and sighed. "It's like watching my own child go to their first day of school."

"Except I'm fifteen," you said, smirking. "And I'm not your kid."

"Don't ruin the moment."

There was another knock on the door, this time a little more urgent. Hanji gave you a tight squeeze before letting you open the door.

Leaning against the porch railing was a boy close to your age. Dark hair cascaded in curtain like motions over his angular face and turquoise eyes. Behind him stood a raven haired girl with a bored expression on her face, dark eyes half lidded and gazing at you. She tugged at the red scarf around her neck despite the heat. A little farther away standing on the stone path was Jean, his back turned to you but his head was turned sideways so he could glimpse at you. He quickly turned his head away when he caught sight of you, tugging at his backpack strap.

"Hey!" the dark haired boy greeted with a smile. "I'm Eren."

The girl behind him blinked slowly. "I'm Mikasa, his adoptive brother."

"_," you said, monotone. _ Let's see how these kids are..._

"That's Jean over there if you don't know," Eren said, pointing a thumb at the tall boy with copper hair who liked to sleep in forests.

"Mmhmm," you hummed, following Eren as the four of you made your ways down the stone path, weaving through the clutter.

"Hey, _!" called a voice behind you.

You turned around and flinched when you saw something flying at you. Raising your hands instinctively, you caught the object, which made a jingling sound when you did. You opened your palms and gazed down at a pair of keys. You looked up at Hanji. "You got bad aim!"

"Oh, shush already and skeedadle to school," she laughed, waving a hand dismissively. You gave her a slight smile before turning around, catching up to the trio, shoving the keys in your pocket.

"So you're Hanji's new foster kid," Mikasa stated.

You nodded, eyeing Jean curiously. So he isn't talking?

Eren looked at you with sympathy. "So what happened to you? I mean, if you don't mind asking. There are a lot of rumors..."

You glanced at him. "_Rumors?_"

"Yeah, like they were murdered or something."

You scoffed. "Yeah, a guy came into my house at night with a machete and stabbed my parents in the chest for no reason." It was meant to be sarcastic, but Eren looked at you like what you said was true.

_Seriously?_ "I'm_kidding,_" you said. "Car accident." You decided not to say anything about your father.

"Oh."

Mikasa nodded her head like she confirmed something. "I'm sorry to hear that."

You waved a hand. "Whatever."

You walked in silence for a while. Jean had now fallen back behind you three, and you slowed your steps to match his pace. He stared at his feet as your steps lined up with his. Mikasa and Eren were too busy bickering to notice you were no longer beside them.

"Not gonna talk, Woods Man?" you asked, glancing up at the tall teenager.

He didn't say anything.

"Well, I heard what happened," you said quietly, "with your friend. Sorry to hear about that."

His golden eyes flickered to meet yours. They were like an open book; you could read what he was pretty much trying to say. But he mouth the word, "_Whatever_," anyway.

"Whatever," you retorted, rolling your eyes. Beside you, Jean's lips curled into a small smile.

What a weird guy.

"Still not going to talk? I mean, you spoke to me. I must be pretty_damn_ special, considering I'm a stranger and 'magically popped up out of nowhere'," you said, recalling his words from that day.

He glanced at you again, mouth set in a firm line. You gazed up at him, the cool breeze ruffling your hair.

"I know you won't talk when they're around. So why not later? We could be best buddies," you joked, punching his shoulder playfully. Jean raised and eyebrow and you cleared your throat.

"You know, like, misery likes company, right?"

"Yep," he whispered under his breath, barely audible. But you still heard it. "It sure does."

There was that snarky voice.

You walked in silence again and you gazed around. The four of you walked by a park. A fence surrounded the perimeter of a small garden. On the sign were painted letters. You looked back at Jean and noticed his gaze lingering on the sign before turning to look somewhere else. The grass swayed like the sun was having a concert and they were the audience. No one was on the playground except for a white cat grooming itself on the yellow slide, mulch stuck onto its tail. It gazed at the lot of you with heavy lidded eyes, bored.

You've gone this way before, but with Hanji. You were going to the store to buy some milk and cookies, another activity Hanji had insisted you do together.

You walked on beside Jean, silent. Mikasa slapped Eren behind the head and he yelped. She smirked when he cowered, shoulders hunched. You snorted at the sight. Even if they were siblings, they looked like they would make a cute couple.

Whatever.

Jean nudged you and you looked back up to him, eyebrows raised. His eyes settled on you but then flickered to the side, then back to you again, then to the side again. You followed his gaze, eyes landing on a huge building behind a row of houses. Kids streamed into the school. It was huge; cut into three sections, each with a small bridge connecting them. There were two parking lots, one at the front of the school, the other at the back. Both were equally as congested with cars as they struggled to find a parking place. The school was stone with moss running up the side like a dying flame, only more greener and less dangerous. The front doors were painted red and had picture of a faceless woman with a crown atop her head. Above it in fancy lettering was, 'Sina High School'.

_Blackhawk 81, this is Blackhawk 81, approaching hell, over._

You and your shitty humor.

Crossing the street with your walk-buddies, you made you way through the growing crowd of teens. You felt stares land on you and Jean, who were pretty much the oddballs.

"Isn't she new?"

"I heard her parents_died."_

"But her dad's some kind of _alcoholic._"

Now you were just beginning to wonder how the hell these kids knew this information. Maybe teachers told them ahead of time? Hanji _was_known to blabber...

"Hey, Eren!" called a familiar voice. Eren stopped abruptly in front of you, causing you to bump into him. You felt someone bump into you from behind and glanced up to see a disoriented Jean. You peered over Eren's shoulder and saw Armin running towards the four of you.

You stepped out from between the two boys and watched as Armin skidded to a halt in front Eren. "Hey, Armin," he said, smiling warmly at the boy. You watched as he stepped closer to the blond and discreetly took his hand in his, holding it tightly.

You glanced at Jean for an explanation. He leaned down and pretended to pick something up by your feet. "Couple," he explained simply under his breath as he straightened.

"Hm."

So Eren and Armin were gay? You didn't really have a problem with it. Who cared anyway? Love is love, though you still couldn't comprehend 'love' anymore. Not anymore.

Jean poked your arm and nodded toward the doors as the bell rang. He urged you forward and you slapped his hand away, making him roll his eyes. "_Idiot_," he mouthed. You narrowed your eyes at him and walked forward along with the mass of teens into the school. You lost sight of Eren, Mikasa, and Armin, but you felt a familiar presence behind you, meaning Jean was still there. You turned your head around. "Going to be my guardian angel?"

Again, he rolled his eyes, but he smirked this time. You huffed and looked around. The front lobby was huge. A few feet in front of you were the main staircases. Banners and posters lined the walls. The main lobby was on one side of the room, the attendance on the other. Jean took your sleeve in his grip and lead you to the main office. There were barely any kids in the lobby, so he said quietly, "Schedule. I'll wait."

"Okay...," you have him a weird look, stepping into the main office. You received your schedule as well as a map of the school and went back to Jean just as the late bell rang.

No one was in the lobby anymore. Anyone nearby was already scrambling to get to their lockers.

"Aren't you late?" you asked Jean. He shopped his head and slipped out of his backpack and opened it up, taking out a piece of paper. He took your schedule and compared it to his, finger pointing at the homeroom number. 354.

"We both have the same homeroom?"

He nodded.

"Do we have the same classes?"

He shook his head but then paused and nodded.

"Not all of our classes are the same?"

He nodded, pointing at the electives. You had only three, but one of them was '_Counselor Session.'_ Whatever that meant. The other two were cooking and music. You noted how the only classes you had different were P.E and Cooking class.

"Did they pair us up for a reason?" you asked.

He shrugged.

Maybe Hanji had told them you got him talking.

You glanced up at him again before taking back your schedule and telling him, "So are you just going to stand there or lead the way, Horse-Face?"

He rolled his eyes and furrowed his eyebrows. He muttered something under his breath, but you only caught onto, "Fucking Jaeger rubbing off of her..."

You followed Jean up the main stairway. You watched him as you did. He kinda did look like a horse with that nasty look on his face. He looked bored, but you could tell there was something more beneath him, more deep and complex. He was an enigma to you in many ways, but there was only thing you understood. Well, perhaps more than you thought. It was the hollow emptiness and the air that filled it, barely enough to keep him going. You scrunched up your face like his, testing it out for yourself. He caught you doing so and scowled, rolling his eyes again.

Even if the kid was mostly silent, he pretty much wasn't. Body language mostly gave away what he was feeling.

He lead you through the emptying halls and soon you came upon a room numbered 354. Homeroom. Jean opened the door and stepped inside, you behind him.

All eyes turned to you and Jean when the door closed shut behind you. You stared back evenly at them and found a man staring at you curiously from underneath heavy bangs that swept on either side of his face. He was tall, taller than you, and had a thin mustache on his lip. He regarded you for a moment before striding forward until he was standing in front of you.

"Who are you?" he asked, sniffing loudly. You had a feeling he was sniffing_you._

"_ _," you introduced yourself curtly, showing him your schedule.

Jean glanced lazily around the room before taking a seat in the back corner. You watched him for a moment before turning back to your homeroom teacher, jumping a little when he quickly extended a hand.

You shook it as he introduced himself. "Mr. Zacarius. I will be your homeroom teacher. Please, um," he consulted a clip board on his desk before speaking again. "Take a seat beside Jean."

Just when you thought you were rid of the weird ass hippie. Sighing, you dragged yourself across the classroom, ignoring the stares of other kids. You recognized a few like Eren, Armin, and Mikasa, but that was it. There was large blond near where Jean sat, a taller tanner person sitting nervously beside him that looked he wanted to throw up. You caught the gaze of a small blue eyed girl with long blonde hair and she smiled. You deadpanned her and walked on. A taller girl beside her gave you the stink eye and you returned the gesture, sticking out your lower lip.

_Yeah, well fuck you, too,_ you thought bitterly, taking a seat beside Jean.

"Christa?" called Mr. Zacarius from his desk, looking around the room. The small blonde raised her hand from her seat in the back, calling out in a high pitcher voice too high an octave, "Here!"

And with that your school day began.

You mostly spent the periods in confusion, not really knowing what the actual hell the teachers were talking about, and being bored out of your fucking mind. Of course, the teachers introduced themselves with the same look of pity you were used to. You waved them off and whenever they were looking for someone to call on, their gazes lingered on you for a moment and shook your head ever so slightly, giving them a death glare. Your calculus teacher, Mrs. Ral, looked a little taken aback by your actions and even a little scared. Inside your mind you were hooting with laughter.

Soon came your first elective, which was the counseling or whatever it was. Since you were both in the same class before it, Jean led you to the room, which was down by the auditorium. It wasn't a very big room, though, and it was plastered with cheesy posters, such as,_'Hang in there!',_ showing a kitten hanging from a branch, and one of a little pug with glasses surrounded by books with bright red lettering reading, _'You can do it!'_

You could taste the cheesiness.

The chairs in the room were arranged in a semi circle, and there were six of them. In front of the chairs was an armchair, bright red leather shining in the light. Jean took a seat in the chair to the farthest left. Since no one was in the room besides you two, he spoke up, "We go here for counseling everyday. It's the cheesy shit: _'How are you feeling? Have you been depressed? What makes you feel that way?'_. I'm telling you, it's stupid as fuck."

You took a seat beside him, a little surprised by his sudden outburst. "_Now_you're talking! Good job, buddy!" you praised sarcastically. He rolled his eyes and laid his cheek in his palm.

"The lady's annoying as hell," he huffed.

You eyed him. "I'm sure she's not as annoying as my foster parent, Hanji."

He rolled his eyes again, scowling. He fumbled with the straps of his watch aimlessly. "Hanji _can_ be...annoying."

"So who-" you started but the door suddenly opened. You and Jean turned your heads to it, another student stepping in.

"Oh," Eren said, almost surprised to see you. He closed the door behind him. "Hi, _." He didn't bother to greet Jean as he took a seat at the other end of the row.

"Hi," you greet simply.

Jean glanced sideways at Eren for a moment before turning his eyes to glance lazily around the room. Eren glanced at Jean for a moment, a hint of distaste in his large turquoise eyes. You regarded them both, confused at their actions. You shrugged it off; no one was friends with everyone anyway. You should know; your only friend was a dog named after a plant and a cat that doesn't even have manners.

The door opened again and a woman with shoulder length bronze hair stepped in, fixing her cardigan shirt and pushing up the glasses on her nose. Her angular eyes darted to you in surprise for a moment before going on to glance at the two boys. Smiling a little, the woman took a seat in the armchair, setting her bag beside her. "Hello, Jean, Eren, and I see this is out new student!" she greeted. She leaned forward in her seat and outstretched a hand to you.

You stared at it for a moment before taking it, giving her hand a solid pump. Satisfied, the woman leaned back, straightening her khakis. "My name is Miss. Brzenska, but you can call me Rico."

"Hello," you said quietly.

She smiled warmly at you before asking, "Your name, dear?"

Oh my god her politeness was annoying you_so much_ right now. You clenched your teeth for a moment before answering, "_ _."

"A nice name," she complimented you. She looked at the two other boys, Jean averting her gaze with a scowl while Eren looked at her respectfully. "I take it you know her?"

Eren nodded. Jean rolled his eyes, a major habit of his you tended to notice.

"Alrighty then. Lets get started!"

And that's when the real torture began. First, the hour and a half was usually started with recounting one's day. Of course, she tried to make Jean talk, but to no avail. Eren blabbered like an idiot, barely stopping to take a breath. You noticed at one point he was turning blue. When it came to be your turn, you sat there, not sure what to say at first. When she coaxed you to say something, all you said was, "It was good."

Something in her eyes changed for a moment and her smile wavered. "Details, if you may."

"Woke up in the morning. Now I'm here."

You_swore_you saw her mouth twitch for a second.

She wrung her hands, smiling like a _fucking_ cheerleader. "Okay. What was one part you liked?"

"Sleep."

"What's one part you didn't like?"

You paused. "When Hanji, my foster parent, gave me orange juice."

"You don't like orange juice?"

You shook you head, a grimace forming on your lips.

"Would you like to share why?"

You stared at the poster of the cat hanging from the branch. _ Hang in there..._ You looked back to Rico and answered.

"No."

She closed her mouth into a firm line. "Okay, then."

Next, you had to listen to her talk about how you could always come to your parents or her for help. You pretty much stopped listening there, already have heard the same lecture one too many times. Your mind wandered to the person behind you.

Jean shifted in his seat, cheek still in his palm. His other hand still fiddled with his watch, tightening the straps and playing with the buttons. You still had many questions about him, though not sure where to get the answers. You could ask him, but you might appear too nosy. Plus, the guy hasn't spoken for months; what makes you think he's going to open up so easily? You did get him talking though, even if you were a complete stranger, which still bothered you. Was it because he was trying to stop you from crossing the creek? If so, why is he_still_ talking to you?

The bell rang, loud and clear. You stood and left with Jean, ready to continue your boring day.

Finally it was homeroom again and you thought maybe, just maybe, you could possibly get some peace and quiet for a few minutes. But apparently everyone wanted to talk to the new girl in town.

"So," the freckled girl said, leaning against your desk as you tried to doodle on the pages of your notebook. You glanced up at her haphazardly. "You're new around here?"

You nodded slowly, eyes wide like it was the most obvious thing in the world. The tall girl gave you a smirk before pointing a thumb to herself and said, "I'm Ymir. If ya want, I can help you around here."

"That's nice of you," you replied, curious.

"I'm not trying to be nice. If I help you, then that means you owe me. Get what I'm saying to ya?"

You nodded again, a little confused. The blonde girl, Christa, look at Ymir worriedly. "_Ymir..._," she warned.

"What? Ah, you're so cute when you're worried!" The tan girl took the smaller teen by the head and ruffled her hair affectionately. Christa blushed, trying to pry Ymir's fingers from her head. You ignored them and continued doodling.

"Hey, what's that?" asked a husky voice by your ear. You turned around but only found Jean next to you, rolling his eyes and pointing to your right. You turned around and came face to face with one of your classmates, a short guy with gray hair cut very close to the scalp, making him look almost bald. His amber eyes stared at the page of notebook paper littered with sketches of office supplies and random people, one of them being him.

He pointed at himself, the sketch of him laughing beside another girl with a high ponytail, "That's me! Cool drawing."

"Thanks." You blinked.

"No problem. I'm-"

"The stupid one in this class," a gruff voice cut in in front of you. You turned to the huge blond.

"Reiner, you dick!" the kid beside you screeched, making you cringe.

Reiner chuckled. "Like he said, I'm Reiner."

"The Dick," baldy retorted.

"Shut up, Connie."

"Hello, Reiner the Dick and Connie, grand prince of the Balds," you said, not looking at either of them, focusing on your drawings.

Reiner guffawed while Connie snickered, though it mostly sounded like he was choking or something. Jean snorted beside you. You looked up at him. He hadn't made a noise for the past two periods. Connie, Reiner, Ymir, and Christa must've heard him because they turned to look at him, amazed. Jean continued working on his homework, oblivious, but there was a small smile on his face. He hid it was his palm.

"Dude," Connie said, dumbfounded. "Did he...just _snort_?"

Ymir moved closer to Jean, dragging her chair closer to his desk. "No way."

Jean looked up, confused at first. Then he suddenly understood and scowled at everyone looking at him.

Connie drummed his hands on the desktop with excitement. "He just made a face! Good job, Jean!"

Armin walked over, Mikasa and Eren behind him, curious. Soon everyone was crowded around yours and Jean's desk.

"Whooa he snorted?"

"And made a face!"

"He's always so blank."

You spoke up. "What's the big deal of him making a face? He's been doing that the whole day around me."

Connie gasped loudly. "So you're making him like this!"

You stared at him. "Um, wha-"

Suddenly there was a voice behind you. "_, what's your secret? You must have a _special connection_or something."

You twisted in your seat to look at the bubbly girl with the high ponytail. She grinned at you, waggling her eyebrows. You think her name was Sasha. You deadpanned her for a moment. "I don't have one and, um, no."

"Aww."

Jean shifted in his seat beside you, looking more annoyed than usual. He fiddled with his watch.

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed," Eren muttered. There were a few chuckles.

The bell rang, loud and shrill, and suddenly there was a chorus of squeaks ands groans as chairs were pulled back and students began to shuffle about the room. You stood, gathering your things, and walked out of the room with Jean to your locker.

Walking home was annoying since Jean wasn't talking that much. Well, he didn't talk much at all. You mostly conversed with Eren and Mikasa as they told you about the school and answered your questions. You found yourself opening up more to people. But you still had a wall that blocked people. It would always be there. You glanced over your shoulder at Jean, who walked silently behind you. He caught your gaze and scowled, averting your gaze. You turned back around. Even if the guy wouldn't talk, he mostly made faces.

You passed the park and again noticed Jean's gaze linger on the sign. He glanced at you quickly, then looked away. You gave him a confused look before looking back at the sign as you walked by it. Still, the words were too far away for you to see.

The four of you walked into Karanes Street, which you noted was where you all lived. Waving goodbye, you parted from your group to cross the street to your temporary home. You paused on the porch, turning around to watch Jean open his own door across the street from you, stepping in. You turned and faced your door before taking out your keys and unlocking the door.

_Weirdo._

"_!" screeched Hanji from the kitchen as you laid your backpack on the couch. "How was school?"

You walked into the kitchen, not surprised to see her shaking her hips to another of her Elvis tunes as she waved a knife in the air. "Fine. And please put the knife down," you said, remembering how your first encounter with Hanji was.

She blew a raspberry and continued cutting up the carrots on the cutting board. You sat down at the dining table with a grunt and asked, "Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"Ah, my boss knows I foster parent and allows me to come home early and have days off when I get a new kid. So you can adjust."

"Mm," you hummed, staring as Hanji placed the chopped up carrots in a pot of boiling water. "What're you making?"

"Stew. By the way, tell me about your school day!"

"Why do you need to know every detail?"

"Ah, come on! Humans are naturally curious beings."

You sighed, giving in. "Okay." You began to recount your day at school, making sure to leave out the parts where Jean spoke to you. It could be your little secret...

When you finished, Hanji continued humming along to the Elvis song as it played on the CD player. "Levi called," she blurted.

"Huh?" Levi?

"He asked if everything is alright," Hanji said, glancing at you. "He's a mean man from what I heard, the little shorty."

You snorted, stifling your laughter. "The guy can't stop calling me shitty brat. Plus he tells lame constipation jokes."

The taller woman chuckled. "Yeah, he can't make good jokes. But he certainly cares about you."

You waved a hand dismissively. "Whatever." But it surprised you a little. Levi was_fond_ of you? Must've been because you always came back to him, either it was running away or your foster parents took you back. He always let you go to another foster home if you wanted to, though you never really stayed long.

Hanji peered into the pot carefully. "Looks like it'll be a while before I can serve you dinner."

You took that as an excuse to leave. Running up the stairs two at a time to your room, you closed the door and collapsed onto your bed, breathless and tired. When was the last time you went to bed like this? It usually took you a few hours until you could finally get to sleep. But this was bliss; finally being able to take a nap without waiting for the sleep to come. Closing your eyes, you waited for the darkness to overwhelm you.

Waking up with a start, your eyes shoot open, wide and alert. You sighed heavily, growling to yourself.

_Damn, nightmares._

Turning your head, you gazed out your window from your bed. Bright orange light streamed in, dust particles floating in the sunlight. You looked at your digital clock, the numbers reading 6:37. Furrowing your eyebrows, you sat up with a grunt and rubbed your face. Nightmares, of course, we a common thing to you. Some nights they wouldn't come at all, maybe for a week at times. But they would always appear when you least expected it. They were mostly the reason you disliked sleeping and had trouble getting to bed. You looked across your room to the wardrobe, where most of your clothing hung.

Whipping one of the doors open, you glanced at your clothing until you found a gray hoodie. Slipping it on, you strode to your bedroom door and quietly made your way to the living room. Hanji was setting bowls on the dining table and you crept past her, heading for the door.

"What'cha doing?" she asked, and you could hear the smile in her voice. You spun around and faced her.

"I'm going out for a walk."

"Alright. Don't stray too far. And come back soon; dinner's just about ready."

With a nod, you left the house and shoved your hands in your pockets, walking down the stone pathway to the sidewalk. You barely knew the way, but you were sure you could find it. You had to see for yourself what it said. You remembered how Jean had gazed at it. What did it say? Why was it so important? Did it have something to do with his friend?

Finally you arrived at the park. From across the street, you could see someone standing in front of the garden, staring at the sign. His chest heaved as a sigh escaped his lips, copper hair tousled from the slight breeze. You almost wanted to call out to Jean, but then thought better of it and hid behind a telephone pole. You stared at him, taking in his tall figure. Jean stood there for what seemed like hours, time ticking by. As you decided to walk over and confront him, you watched as he stepped away from the wooden sign and out of the park, heading back from where you came from. You watched him go until he turned the corner and was no longer there before looking both ways and crossing the street.

Your sneakers made slight clacking sounds as you walked on the cobblestone path into the park, following it and passing the tall spruce trees until the stone was no longer there but instead replaced by dirt and mulch. Stepping onto the grass, you faced the garden, eyes glancing over the wire and wooden posts, the tall and overgrown plants peeking out, trying to escape. Finally your eyes settled on the wooden sign. Weeds covered the bottom of it, and a patch of purple flowers were the only welcomed guests. You recognized them as lavender. The wood on the sign was rotting near the edges and looking a little green from the fungus and moss that grew on it. A nail secured the two pieces of wood together. Letters were painted on the sign in black, but it was slowly loosing its color. The last word ended in a flourish, the black paint starting thick on the end of the T, quickly thinning out.

Something about this sign, and the words on it, was important to Jean. You read over the sentence again, gazing at the name scrawled on it carefully. Even despite how calm you were, seeing this made you almost...sad for some reason. It was sad. But _why?_ Reading over the painted text one more time, you turned away and began making your way back home, the words still implanted in your mind.

_This community garden was founded by Marco Bodt._

_What a weird name._

_**This was longer than I expected, um. Wow, over 6,000 words. Well, thanks for reviewing guys. BTW, if any of you read More Than a Whole Brigade, please stay tuned on my deviantart account (link on my bio) because the fic will be getting a comic soon! So excited. Anyway, thanks again for reviewing!**_

_**I DON'T OWN SNK NOR ITS CHARACTERS**_

_**DON'T OWN YOU THOUGH PERHAPS JEAN DOES HUEHUE**_


	4. Chapter 4

**Feel New Chapter Four: The Purple Plaid Blanket, The Silver Necklace, And The Tears That Followed**

_"Go…_  
><em>Go, go<em>  
><em>Go…<em>  
><em>Go…!<em>  
><em>Just go!"<em>  
><strong>-Chris Garneau "The Leaving Song"<strong>

There was a loud pawing at your bedroom door, the sound of nails digging into wood and scratching the rough surface filled your ears, overpowering the loud music that played from your ears. Plucking the earbuds out, you strode across the room and opened your door. Sawney stood there, one paw raised as if he were about to reach up and scratch the door again, or perhaps your leg. The ginger cat slipped inside your room without a sound, and you closed the door, watching the tom peer around your room, sniffing here and there.

You crouched down and rubbed between his ears, eliciting a deep purr from the cat. You straightened and returned to your bed, where the rest of what little homework you had to do was laying on.

School was going fine for you. You were also spending a lot more time with Jean. He still wasn't talking to anyone but you. He never revealed anything about himself though. He mostly spoke of instructions or gave you reminders. Nothing else. You glanced up at your window, the dark blue light shining through the curtains. You glanced at your clock, grimacing at the time, 6:11. You would have to get ready for school soon.

You felt something warm curl up beside your bare feet and looked over your shoulder at Sawney, who purred loudly and gazed at you with his big green eyes. You reached over and scratched his head, making him purr louder. He suddenly took a hold on your hand with a his paws, claws raking across your skin. You whimpered and pulled your hand away, inspecting the red marks that were beginning to bleed. You glared at the cat but he gave you that innocent look. You rubbed his head before standing and began to dress.

Making your way downstairs, you walked into the kitchen, stepping over Bean's sleeping form, and opened a cabinet. You looked through it until you found a box of bandages. You looked into it and found it empty. Huffing, you took the gauze bandages instead, wrapping the fabric around your battle scars. You glanced at the clock, seeing that it was already 6:36. Hanji should be getting for work soon.

Seeing that there was still sometime left, you went into the living room and sat down, reaching for the television remote.

Hanji was getting increasingly louder as the days dragged on. Not only her, but her music. You didn't mind; some of the songs were pretty catchy. And sometimes, when you were just aimlessly walking around the house, Hanj would twirl into the room out of no where and took your hand and started dancing. At first you were a little embarrassed, but her wacky dance moves were making it easier to enjoy the little dance moments you had.

Yawning, you heard Hanji making her way down the stairs, her heavy footsteps signaling she wasn't fully awake just yet. You watched her groggy form shuffled into the kitchen and reappear minutes later with a cup of coffee, her hair a tousled mess and her glasses smudged. She gave you a crooked grin. "I see you're an early bird."

"Was up doing homework."

"Now? Irresponsible teens."

"Yep."

She took a sip of her coffee, making a face and coughing. "Bitter," she remarked. She glanced at the door and back to you. "Do you mind checking the mail?"

You stood and stretched and opened the door, the cold morning breeze nipping at your skin. You shivered and looked at the hanging mailbox beside the house's window on the congested porch. You noticed the lid was opened a little, a white envelope sticking out. You stepped over to grab it but your foot stepped onto a box. You looked down, realizing it was a package.

For _you._

You stared at your name on the sticker on the brown package and picked it up, taking the envelope with you. You closed the door behind you and strode into the kitchen, where you placed the box and the envelope on the dining table. Hanji, surprised at the package, walked over. "It's for you?"

You nodded and gave her the envelope, eyes still on the box. The address from where it came from was from your house, where your father lived. Why would he send you a package? What was in it?

Hanji poked your arm and you turned to her. She held out a box cutter and you took it. Carefully, you cut through the duct tape that sealed the box. Opening up the flaps, you stared at what was inside, dumbfounded.

Inside was a plaid purple blanket, a silver necklace, and a note. You ignored the other items inside for a moment and took the note, reading your father's messy handwriting.

_Thought you might want this. You might need it more than I do, _._

Furrowing your eyebrows, you ripped the tiny note in half and let it fall to the floor. You picked up the necklace, inspecting its silver chain. The little figure of a paintbrush held on precariously to the jump ring. You tapped it and make a small jingling sound. You let it fall back into the box, memories of your mother wearing the necklace entering your mind. She was wearing this on the day of the accident…

You gazed at the plaid baby blanket as tears welled up in the corners of your eyes. The blanket belonged to your sister. And she was clutching it when she died, the fabric bunched up in her tiny hands. Letting out a shuddering breath, you averted Hanji's penetrating gaze.

Why would your father send you this? Didn't he know it would just make things worse? The_pain?_

Hanji laid a hand on your shoulder. "_, if you want, you could stay home today…"

You didn't answer, only brought the precious items to your face, inhaling the scent of detergent on the blanket. Hanji gave you a comforting smile as the tears fell from your eyes, splattering onto the brown cardboard box. It was too much. _Too much…_

Sniffing, you averted her gaze and turned away. "I-I really can stay home today?"

"Of course, sweetie," she answered, understanding in her eyes.

You returned to your room and sat at the edge of your bed, tears still spilling from your eyes. You held onto the blanket tightly as sobs racked your body. This was your sister's favorite blanket. She would drag it everywhere with her. You remembered how she would always throw it at you, even though she was just a baby and could barely do so-and you would pretend to have a mini seizure just to hear her laugh. Your eyes turned to the necklace. Your mother always wore it and never took it off. Not once did you see her without it. The tinkling sound would be everywhere as the thing bounced off of your mother's chest as she walked. She would always joke about how it made her seem like a reindeer.

Why did it hurt so much? After all of this time? Why were you crying? Someone should be telling you to shut up and stop crying and cook dinner already. But that never came because you were in Hanji's home now. Not your old home.

You cried for what seemed like hours until your eyes were puffy and bloodshot and you could no longer produce anymore tears. Somehow, in the time spent crying, you laid down and fell asleep.

—

You woke up to quiet knock on your door. You pried you eyes open and lay there, listening to Hanji's quiet voice as she spoke.

"_, I'm going to be at work today. I'm…sorry I can't be here, but something really important happened."

You didn't answer as you heard her leave. Being ignored and put aside was your specialty. Obviously her work was more important that you.

What were you saying? Now you were just being selfish; Hanji was working for you to live here with her. You should at least be grateful. Shaking the thoughts away, you turned to look at your digital clock.

1:53.

Did you sleep for that long? _Wow._ You rubbed your eyes, still drowsy and not fully awake. Looking around the bed, your gaze landed on the blanket. You took it and held it tightly, feeling more tears at the corner of your eyes. You sniffed and wiped your nose with the back of your hand let go of the blanket, standing. You went down to the kitchen, hungry and still rubbing your eyes.

You searched for something to eat, but you couldn't really cool, so you settled on some cereal, an acceptable meal in all times of the day. Sitting down at the table, you began to chew at your fruity pebbles.

The blanket and necklace were still upstairs. You felt like you didn't want to see them ever again, but part o you wanted to keep them instead of just throwing them away. Your baby sister and mother returned to you mind, and you shut your eyes for a moment, trying to calm down.

_There was so much pain. You could barely move your arm. Your mouth was dry. You felt yourself being lifted onto the stretcher, paramedics frantically shouting orders to each other. Sirens howled loudly, the sound of chatter and cars honking filling your mind. Opening your eyes, you used your strength to ask the paramedic beside you, "My sister…where's my sister?"_

_She only looked at you and then looked away. "Keep your eyes open, honey. Everything will be alright."_

_The truth sank in at her words. No, it_wouldn't_be alright. Fear gripped at your heart as you repeated the question, louder and louder until you were screaming and they had to give you a shot for the shock._

You wept softly, dropping your spoon into the cereal bowl and clutching your head. You just wanted to see your little sister one more time…

You wanted to see your mother and baby sister, but now you never could. Ever.

After throwing away what was left of your cereal in the sink, you returned to your room and stared at the wall, your heavy loss becoming more grievous by the minute. You didn't know how long you were up in your room. You almost fell asleep, but a knock on your door caused you to jolt upright.

"_," a voice said quietly. It wasn't Hanji's.

You turned away from the door and sniffed, wiping at your eyes. You wanted to be alone.

"Go," you ordered loudly, voice hoarse from crying.

"_," he pleaded. "Can I come in?"

"Go," you said again, louder. "_Please…_"

There was a pause behind the door. "_, just…let me help-"

"I said, go away, Jean!" you snapped, tears falling from your cheeks. _"Just go!"_

There was silence. The only sound that could be heard was you crying, trying to hold in the sobs. "W-what do you even know about me? You can't help me…," you said quietly, but you knew he could hear you. You immediately regretted the words as they left from your mouth.

There was a pause. "_, you don't think I can help you? Believe me, I know how you feel."

You wiped at your eyes. "Why are you even talking to me right now? You haven't spoken to anyone in months."

Another pause. "I…I don't know. Maybe its because we both know how it feels. Because we can help each other."

You sniffed again.

"And…because no one knows how it feels to loose someone…"

You sniffed, more tears falling from your eyes. Of course he knew how it felt.

"_… I found out about you the moment I came home, the day you just arrived in the neighborhood. My parents were talking about you. They said…"

"That my mom and sister died in a car accident?"

You could tell he nodded. "Yeah."

You felt yourself calming down. _Jean is such an honest bastard,_ you thought.

"Why are you even here?" you asked.

"You didn't show up at school, so I thought something might've happened."

"How did you get in?"

"I know where Hanji keeps the spare key." You could hear him shift from foot to foot behind the door. "I…I'm coming in," he announced.

"Be my guest, WoodsMan," you mumbled as the door opened.

Jean strode in, concern openly showing on his face. He stared at you for a moment, your weary form sitting at the foot of your bed, clutching the blanket and necklace to your chest. He quietly sat down beside you. An awkward silence settled in as the two of you just sat there.

"Why are you even here?" you asked again, breaking the silence.

He turned to looked at, golden eyes taking in your puffy eyes and tired face. "You already asked me that."

"No, I mean-why are you here? You barely know me,_I_ barely know you, and its just…"

He was silent for a moment before furrowing his eyebrows. "Idiot. You don't need to know someone to try and comfort them. Now will you just accept that I'm here?"

"Why did you even come? Do I matter that much to you? I'm a fucking stranger, Jean." You rubbed at your eye. Seriously, what was with this guy?

He rolled his eyes. "Jesus fucking Christ, _. I get that you're a stranger. I get that I barely know you, or vice versa. But when I was going through what you are now, no one was fucking there for me. So…I guess I just want to be there for someone else…I don't know! I'm just as confused as you!" He bit his lip, brows furrowed in thought. "Why _did_ I come here?"

"That's what I'm fucking saying, Jean." You rolled your eyes, annoyed. When had the conversation turned into something you could go along with just fine?

Jean turned to look at you. "So," he said. "Enough with that. Care to tell me why you missed school?"

You glared at him for a moment before gesturing to the plaid blanket and necklace in your hands. "These fucking things…"

He raised an eyebrow.

You didn't even know if you should tell him. Why should you? "Wait-why should I tell you, anyway?"

"God dammit, do you want to accept my comfort or not?"

"You're weird, Jean."

"I know."

You snorted.

Jean pinched the bridge of his nose, growing impatient. Sighing, you spoke again. "You already know how my mom and little sister went. Well, these are just some things that belonged to them…"

He nodded, gesturing for you to go on.

"My dad sent them to me. Yeah, he's a, um, never mind." You looked at the blanket. "My little sister used to drag this with her everywhere. And my mom would get mad because she would have to constantly tell her to pick it up or else it'll need to be cleaned every day." You smiled at the memory, tears blurring your vision. "My mom wore this necklace all the time-never took it off. Ever. It would make the most beautiful tinkling sound. It reminded me of Tinker Bell." You took the necklace and tapped the little paintbrush, making it _tink._

Jean stared at you of a moment. He reluctantly wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. Would dying make things easier? Would it ease the pain? You had attempted to kill yourself before, but couldn't bring yourself to lower the razor to your wrists. You just couldn't…

Sighing, you let the tears spill again. "Jean, sometimes I wish I_ wouldn't_ be here. Sometimes I wish I was killed with my sister and mom. Sometimes…"

"Don't say that," he said quietly. "Don't _ever_ say that, idiot."

You turned to look at him, cheeks glistening from your tears. His eyebrows were furrowed, and there was anger in her eyes. But there was also understanding, the kind that you could accept, the kind that you knew. Those eyes weren't full of false pity like so many others. They were genuine, those golden orbs. You took a shuddering breath. "Jean, am I pathetic?"

"No."

"Then why can't I kill myself?"

"That's not pathetic. That's strong. It means you really do want to stay in this world."

You turned away, finally letting the dam break. You sobbed, thinking why they had to leave you? Why did they leave you?_Why?_ Why couldn't they stay? You gripped Jean's shirt as he held you closer as you sobbed into his shoulder, wetting his shirt with your tears. You felt his hand tangle itself in your hair, stroking it gently in an attempt to calm you down.

"Oh god, Jean, it _hurts_ so much," you said in between sobs.

"I know it does. But you have be strong," he said, holding you tighter. What was this feeling? You were so…open with him. _Why?_ You were never this open with anyone else.

It scared you.

You always blocked people away. You never let them in. Even with Hanji, you haven't been like this with her. So why are you like this with Jean? Was it because of what he said, because you understood each other? What was this feeling, then?

Jean held you until your sobs dwindled to small hiccups, until your eyes were dry, and you could no longer cry. He held you, rocking softly back and forth. You gripped his shirt tightly, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. Why were you blushing now? Was it this closeness? You barely knew the guy and he was hugging you.

"Jean, I'm thirsty."

He scoffed. "That's what happens when you cry so much. I should know."

You broke apart from his embrace and rubbed your swollen eyes, tired. Jean smiled at you warmly, reaching over to wipe your cheek. "Listen, _. We can help each other. We can mend. So when you need me, I'll come, and when I need you, you better fucking come you lazy shit."

You sniffed, smiling. "Gosh, Jean, you're so fucking cheesy."

"Shut up."

"But thanks anyway."

"Hah?"

"No one's done that before. I feel a lot better. So thank you, Jean. Maybe we can mend each other." You held out your hand.

He stared at it for a second before glancing up at you, cheeks pink. "S-stupid. Don't say such embarrassing things." He took your hand and shook it, sealing the deal.

You laughed. "I'm not the one who said it first, you dork."

"Oh, shut up."

"What, don't like it when I say embarrassing things?"

"Uh, no, not real-"

You waggled your eyebrows and leaned against him. "Lets talk about _adult things,_ Jean," you said huskily.

He raised an eyebrow, blushing harder this time. He leaned closer to you and said playfully, "Oh really? How about…_taxes?"_

You gasped dramatically. "_Jean!"_ You could barely hold in your laughter. "Don't forget to turn off the lights; the bill came in up to $200 this week!"

He faked a moan, swooning and pressing a palm to his forehead. "__!_ Wash that mouth of yours. Don't you forget that we have that meeting for a promotion!"

You swooned with him in unison, and the both of you moaned. Suddenly the door burst open and Hanji stood there, eyes wide and panicked, holding a wooden spoon, and the two of you sprang apart. You and Jean stared at her, confused. Hanj laid a hand to her heart. "Oh gosh, I thought..phew, never mind."

You blushed, understanding. "Oh god, Hanji, we're just playing."

Jean snorted beside you, blushing just as furiously. He his his face in his palm, smirking a little.

"When did you get back?" you asked, still dazed.

Hanji glanced at Jean and answered without taking her eyes off of him, "I just came home now to check on you when…"

"Awkward," Jean muttered under his breath and you elbowed him. He grunted.

"Uh…" you didn't really know what to say. "Jean came over to, er, comfort me. Uh, you know, because of the…package."

"Oh! O-of course. How are you, Jean?"

He deadpanned her. Then he did something you would never have expected him to do. "I'm doing fine, Ms. Zoe. Thank you; and how are you?"

You and Hanj stared at him in surprise. You gaped at him, speechless. Hanji's eyes widened and she opened and closed her mouth, looking like a fish. Jean just stared at her, almost like he was daring her to say something.

"W-well, um, I'm fine. Thank you for asking. I…you…," Hanji closed her mouth, just as amazed as you. She glanced at you and back to Jean. "I…I'm just…going to leave this door open…I'll…be downstairs if, um, you need me." Then she made a whole scene of leaving the door open, making the two teens inside the room blush even furiously, and then watched as the tall woman gave you two a crooked grin and scurry downstairs in excitement.

"I don't want to ever be in that situation again…," Jean trailed off, turning around to look at you but was surprised to see you still gaping at him. "What?"

"What was that? You just spoke to Hanji!"

He shrugged. "Maybe Connie is right: I really am changing you!" you said.

He coughed a little, eyebrows furrowing. "Yeah, whatever, you dork."

"Shuddup, I was the one who called you that first, _dingus_."

He rolled his eyes again and scowled. "Whatever."

"Seriously, "_whatever_"?" you mimicked him, scowling and rolling your eyes.

"Whatever," he mimicked you mimicking him.

"Whatever."

"Whatever."

"Whatever."

"Whatever."

"You can stop now," you chuckled.

"Whatever," he said huskily, flipping his head back, causing his hair to sweep across his eyes.

You laughed and noticed how his eyes flicked to yours, brightening up.

"_," he said suddenly, a new emotion in his voice.

"What?" you asked, still giggling.

"Do that more."

"More of what?"

"Laughing. Laugh more. You look happier that way."

You blushed a little at his bluntness. "Ah, sure, whatever you say."

"Whatever," he said with a knowing smirk.

"Don't start again, idiot."

"Whatever."

"Oh my-seriously."

"Whatever." Hair flip.

"Wow, you're a fucking dim-wit," you stated.

"Whatever." Another hair flip.

Punching him in the arm, you stood and laid the blanket back on the bed, folding it up neatly. Jean stood and sat at the edge of your bed, watching as you carefully placed the blanket on your pillow. Taking the necklace, you gripped it tightly before taking both ends of it and unclipping it. He watched as your wrapped it around your neck and clipped it, letting the necklace fall onto your chest.

"Feeling better?" he asked.

You nodded, sniffing loudly again. "It's almost like they're here…"

"They would have wanted you to move on," he blurted.

You stared at him for a moment. Move on… What did that mean to you? Was it just…forgetting about it? Was it to put it in the vault of your mind? To keep going and just forget about it? You couldn't forget about them. Or could you?

You shook the thoughts away and sighed. "I'm still pretty thirsty."

Jean chuckled. "Stupid. Lets get you something to drink."

You followed him down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Hanji was making dinner. "Oh! Hey, guys," she grinned at you two and waggled her eyebrows. You rolled your eyes and sat at the table while Jean searched the fridge.

"_, are you feeling any better? I'm sorry I couldn't stay; I came back early because I felt back I had to leave. You must've thought I valued my work over you…," Hanji trailed off, worry mixed in her features.

"Hanji, its okay…you need to work, so," you answered to her as Jean placed a cup in front of you.

"No, it's not okay! I'll never do that again. From now on, I'll be there for you."

You blinked, but then smiled. "Thanks, Hanji." You glanced at Jean, who sat across from you. He looked down at the cup in front of you. You picked it up and took a sip…and immediately spit it out.

Orange juice.

Jean raised an eyebrow, surprised by your sudden spit take.

Hanji turned around, annoyance in her eyes. "Ah, come on, _. I know you hate orange juice but couldn't you just spit it in the cup?"

"Sorry," you grumbled, a little harshly, wiping your mouth. Jean watched you curiously as you cleaned the mess, eyebrows furrowing. God, you _hated_ oranges.

"What's with hate towards the citrus fruit?" Jean asked quietly.

"Nothing…I just hate the taste," you lied. He raised and eyebrow and sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Fine, don't tell me then."

"Ah, Jean, would you like to stay for dinner?" Hanji asked.

"Can't. Homework," he said quietly, standing. "Gotta go. Bye." You and Hanji watched him leave rather abruptly.

There was silence after you heard the door close softly. Then:

"Think he was constipated?" Hanji asked.

"Wha-" was all you could manage before erupting into laughter, Hanji joining in. You laughed and laughed and clutched at your stomach, tears at the corners of your eyes.

The good kind.

_**This isn't as long as I hoped it would be but ehhh. What'cha gonna do? Anyway, thanks for the reviews. So nice~! We have a bit of angst here.**_

_**I don't own snk nor its characters**_


	5. Chapter 5

**Feel New Chapter Five: Blossom Trees And Freckles**

_"Most of my sweet memories__  
><em>_Were buried in the sand__  
><em>_The fire and the pain__  
><em>_Will now be coming to an end__  
><em>_How did you manage to save me__  
><em>_From this desolate wasteland?__  
><em>_In your eyes I see the dawn__  
><em>_Of brighter days again"_  
><strong>-WoodKid "Wasteland"<strong>

You shuddered, turning your head away from the sink, and gagging. Touching wet food was so disgusting, you thought you might need to go to therapy to get over it. Shuddering once again, you reached for the sponge and continued in washing the dishes, listening to Hanji's tunes.

"_You ain't nothing but a hound dog!"_ Elvis sang, breaking the silence and starting a new song.

You were beginning to actually like Hanji's music. Though it was mostly Elvis, the upbeat and sometimes sad music couldn't stop you from swaying your hips or humming along. The best part of the music to you was how old it was, almost like you were going back in time, dancing in a diner after school and ordering five cent fizzy sodas.

Behind you, you could hear Hanji flipping the pages of the local newspaper. She was sitting at the dining table, sipping at her coffee while reading the paper, ready to leave for work in a few minutes.

"Almost done, _?" she asked, looking at you from above the rim of her glasses.

You shook your head, getting impatient at a particular cheese stain on a plate. You were just wondering how it got there, scrubbing furiously at the food.

"Okay. Finish that up and don't forget to clean your room. I'm going to work!"

"See you later, Hange!"

You heard the door shut and you sighed, finally alone. You were just itching for it to be noon already. Your new favorite show would be on. Scrubbing harder at the food stains on the plates, you let out a low growl of frustration.

It had been two days since Jean had come over to comfort you. You still had been prone to crying, but they were only a few tears. It seemed like Jean's comfort had worked. You wanted to thank him, somehow. Perhaps comfort him when the time comes. But will there ever be a time like that? He was always so…you, with the walls and everything. But at least he was open to you, which still kept you wondering. You guessed you really could mend each other.

Soon Elvis's song ended and began playing a new song, one of your favorites, 'Jailhouse Rock.' Humming along, you failed to notice that someone had knocked on your door. It was when they knocked for the third time that you heard. You quickly wiped your hands dry and strode over to the door, curious. You looked through the peephole, a flash of copper hair catching your eye.

You opened the door, revealing Jean. He was leaning against the porch railings, hands shoved into  
>his pockets. He looked up to you, seemingly embarrassed at first. "Uh, hi."<p>

"Hi."

There was an awkward silence as the two of regarded each other with curious eyes. Jean straightened and cleared his throat. "Um. I just wanted to know if you were feeling okay…well my mom wanted to know so I…yeah."

You raised an eyebrow, knowing that was an obvious lie. "Jean, you suck at lying. Try sticking to what you're good at, like honesty." You leaned against the doorframe, crossing your arms as 'Jailhouse Rock' blasted from inside behind you. "And I'm doing Jim Dandy, thanks." You voice was thick with sarcasm.

"Oh…okay."

"Are you okay?" you asked, startling him.

"Hah?"

"I asked if you are okay."

He thought for a moment and opened his mouth, choosing his words carefully. "I…guess…"

You sighed, disappointed at his lame answer. You opened the door wider. "Come in if ya want," you said, turning away.

He paused for a moment.

You looked back at him and rolled your eyes. "Don't worry: I'm letting you in this time so you don't have to break in like the last time."

He scowled and stepped inside. "Shut up. And I didn't break in. I just happened to know where the spare key is."

You closed the door, raising an eyebrow. "How did you find out that piece of information?"

He cringed. "When you decide to not talk with anyone for months, you start to see and observe things you shouldn't."

You stared at him and blinked. "Okaaay," you said, prolonging the word. You stepped into the kitchen and up to the sink, hearing Jean follow you.

But then his words sunk in as you turned the water on. "Wait," you said, glancing sideways to him. "You decided not to talk with anyone?"

He regarded you for a moment. "Yeah," he answered averting your gaze. He fiddled with his watch, unhooking and hooking the straps.

"Why?"

"I'd rather not say."

"Humph." You looked down at the last few plates.

"You almost done?" he asked.

"Yeah. Why?"

"I want to take you somewhere."

Somewhere?

You glanced at him, looking for further explanation, but only found him staring at the wall in front of him, thick emotions swirling in his eyes. "Okay," you said, turning back to the dishes. "But it better be near."

Suddenly there was a loud bark and Bean padded into the kitchen, yawning. He was taking a lot more naps then usual, you noted. The German Shepard stopped dead in his tracks when he looked at Jean, but then shot forward and tackled into him, making him stumble. Jean's back pressed into yours as the dog licked and sniffed him. The teen laughed, speaking in between giggles, "I didn't know…pfft…you had a dog!"

You cringed, Jean's heavy back making you bend over the sink. "Jean, you mind? You can get off me now."

"Ah, sorry." You felt his back disappear, as well as the warmth it gave yours.

"And yeah, Hanji has a dog. And a cat."

Jean crouched down, letting Bean sniff his hand. "Hey there, big guy!" He rubbed his head, patting the dog's side.

"His name's Bean," you said, smiling as you placed the last cup on the rack.

"You're a big cutie!" he said in one of those voices you give to animals or babies.

You burst out laughing, causing Jean to turn his head to you. "What?" he asked, annoyed.

"Oh god, Jean," you chuckled. "You're a big softie."

He huffed. "I can be tough," he said defensively.

You shook your head and patted his shoulder, walking by him and switching off the music. "Uh huh. And I can grow wings."

Jean scowled despite the smile on his face. Bean barked again, trotting behind you as you walked into the living room. Jean stood with a dramatic groan and followed as you stood by the door, Bean wagging his tail beside you.

"So what do you want to show me?" you asked.

"I'll show you when we get there," he simply said, letting you open the door.

The cool morning air hit you like a punch to the face, making you stumble. You haven't been outside in days. Jean looked at strangely as Bean trotted out of the house, barking happily. He descended down the stairs in two leaps and waited for you at the end of the grey stone path. You ran after him, Jean taking the lead. You yawned and stretched, walking alongside Bean. He barked again and dropped his tongue out of his mouth, the pink flesh hanging limply and bobbing as he walked. You looked back up to Jean, noting just how tall he was.

He was about two heads taller than you. You never had met someone so tall. He didn't say anything as the three of you walked down the street. Cautiously, you walked forward a little, angling yourself so you could see his face. His eye stared ahead, solemn, trained on the street ahead of him. You followed his eyes until they stopped at the forest ahead.

Was he taking you there?

At the sight of the forest, Bean barked happily and ran ahead. "Bean!" you called, increasing your pace. If he got hurt Hanji was going to definitely murder you.

Jean and you caught up to Bean at the edge of the forest. You took in the scenery; it was where you had met Jean.

Without a word, he clambered through the underbrush, Bean following him. With a huff, you followed both. It was hard to keep up since Bean was an animal and Jean had long ass legs. You ducked under branches, the occasional leaf sacking you in the face or a tree root being an ass and sticking out of the ground tripping you. After doing so for about the fifth time, you stopped, stepping into the same clearing you stood in a week ago.

The blossom tree swayed in the breeze, bright pink petals floating to the ground. The petals piled in the bright green grass like snow. The soft sloshing sounds of the cream only enhanced the beauty of the forest, combining with other sounds and features. You looked at Jean, who only sat in the same position by the tree that same day you had stared at him. Bean lay down in the long grass beside him. You walked over, the long grass making it difficult to walk through. You sat down, back against the dark wood of the tree. You breathed in, inhaling the scents of the forest.

"I used to come here almost everyday," Jean said, startling you. You turned to look at him as he went on.

"I would always come here. Everyday. Whatever time it was. I didn't care. Because my friend would be here. Marco would be waiting for me."

_Marco._Why did it sound so familiar now?

"You remind me of him, actually."

You stared at him, searching for some sort of emotion on his face. There was only the mask of indifference.

"He was so nice. And I don't mean the kind of creepy nice that would make you feel like he wants something in return. I'm talking about the nice that makes you nice, that makes you smile. And it always confused me; why would someone like him hang out with someone like me? A fucking jerk who only cares about himself…"

_Whoa, hold up._

"I know why," you said, catching his attention. "Because you're nice, too."

He snorted. "Yeah right."

"What do you mean? You dumbass; you're the one who broke into my house just to comfort me, idiot. And I didn't even ask for it."

He didn't answer. With a sigh, you lay in the grass on your back, scratching Bean's jaw. Marco…

_The sign._

Your eyes widened at the realization. "Jean…tell me about Marco."

"Hm?"

"Tell me about him. I want to know him."

There was a pause until he replied, "Okay…"

And so he told you. He told you about Marco. Marco Bodt was his best friend for life since kindergarten. Jean didn't even like Marco at first. But then as time went on, Jean became less and less blunt with Marco and more and more open with him. He told you that they told each other everything. It was a part of the pact they made in third grade.

"The pact was pretty stupid, but for third graders like us, it was the perfect way to ensure we would never leave each other's sides. We were always together everywhere."

"How does Marco look like?"

"He has freckles, lots of them, all over his body. In the summer, when he wears shorts and short sleeved shirts, I could see all the freckles on his arms and legs. I memorized where they were and how many were on his face. He had them on his cheeks and nose and even his hands. Everywhere. He had dark hair that would always fall into his eyes, and his mom would always tell him to brush it aside or else he won't be able to see and he'll fall. He never did it, and he never fell. His eyes are like chocolate, like the chocolate my mom brings home when my grandmother sends it to her from Paris.

"He's tall, too. If you think I'm tall, then you haven't seem Marco, him with his long ass legs. He loved to garden, so his knees and hands were usually covered in some sort of dirt or grime. He always told the cheesiest puns, too. His nose was button shaped. I remember how when I was little, the first thing I did when I met him was just poke it and say, 'Boop'."

What was with all the past tense? Was Marco…_dead?_

"Jean, where's Marco?" you asked.

Silence.

"I don't know. But I know he's not coming back."

"What happened to him?"

"He just disappeared one day…"

"Why do you say he's not coming back?"

He let out a bitter laugh. "It's been over eight months, _. I know when to give up hope."

Give up? You remembered how you felt when you woke up in the hospital. You had never cried so much. Giving up always seemed like a good idea to you. You wanted to give up when your father started to drink away his grief, when you had to clean up the broken bottles and every last shard from the carpet, when you sent to your first foster, when you raised the razor to your wrists; giving up hope always seemed reasonable there. Giving up the thought that things could never get better. Jean's words from days ago replayed in your head. "_We can mend. If you need me, I'll come, and if I need you, you better fucking come you lazy shit._" Was this a time when you could help him? Repay him for comforting you? Give him hope?

"Jean, tell me more about Marco."

Jean thought for a moment before opening his mouth like he did that day you first came here, only now he was opening his mouth for the first time, even if it wasn't the first time. He opened his mouth for the first time, nonetheless, but to speak about Marco.

"He would always cheer me up, no matter what he did. His smile and laugh was just so fucking contagious. The idiot wouldn't stop smiling. I could never stay mad at him, or he could never stay mad at me. We always had to end up laughing or playing Mario Kart. Sometimes we would end up wrestling…" Jean began to laugh a little.

"Tell me more," you urged.

"He loved peanut butter and jelly. Almost every time I was over his house there was always a full jar of peanut butter and jelly and one beside it that was almost empty. I don't know why, but I never got sick of eating those damn sandwiches with him, even though I didn't like peanut butter that much. Maybe it was because he was there." You could hear the smile in his voice.

"More," you urged, closing your eyes. Whatever it took to keep him smiling.

And as he told you more and more about Marco, he was cracking. That wall that he battled so defiantly to keep up, was crumbling ever so slightly at each word. A pebble fell, a crack appeared, rubble crumpled, and the wall was straining to keep up. He was laughing as he remembered the memories that were funny, he was smiling at the memories that made him smile, and he was cursing and turning red at the memories that were embarrassing. You laughed along, Bean sleeping peacefully between you. Jean found himself leaving his position from the tree to lay down beside you in the grass. It tickled your skin and ants bit at your knees, but your were too busy listening to Jean, listening and hearing and seeing and feeling his happiness. You felt it all like there was a connection, even if Bean was in the way, but yet there was a connection nonetheless.

And it was beautiful.

You were finally connected with someone.

Finally.

And then there was silence when Jean stopped talking because his throat hurt, and it was already about three in the afternoon, and you were hungry and tired, but you were still here with him. That meant something. _Big._You listened to him breathing, he listened to you.

"Do you ever…feel guilty sometimes?" he asked, breaking the silence.

You thought it over. "Yes."

He shifted so he was on his side, curled up, staring at you intently. "I feel like I shouldn't be laughing sometimes, or smiling, or even appreciating that I'm here…"

"And that you wish they were still here, or that you could trade places with them, or see them one last time," you added. The grief was building up within.

"We're selfish," he declared, just like that.

You looked at him. "Yeah…we are."

He blushed a little and he hid his face in his palm, looking away. "But we're human, so we can't help it, right?"

You only nodded, lost in thought. "Do you think they want us to forget about them? Is the the only way to move on?"

His eyes flickered back to you, and unlike the other questions you asked, there wasn't an answer. His eyebrows furrowed in thought. "I don't know."

"We should be happy, right?"

He didn't answer.

"But how can we? It feels like there's a hole in me that I can't fill up. I know it sounds cheesy. But I can't help it."

You felt something take your hand and you looked down. His fingers laced with yours and held onto your hand tightly. He rolled onto his back, arm cast across his face, blocking the sun. You blushed, feeling how warm his hand was. So warm…hotter than a million suns. Why was it so warm? You looked up to Jean and found his face red, most of the blush hidden by his arm. You only smiled a little and held onto his hand tightly, feeling the hole…fill up a little. And even if it wasn't much, it was something. And that's what mattered.

"Ah…you're kinda hurting my hand there, _," Jean said, glancing at you. His eyes widened and he sat up.

"Oh geez. Uh, _. Why are you crying?"

You sniffed and felt another tear fall. You smiled at him, vision blurred from the tears. "I'm just…happy, Jean. Can't I cry when I'm happy?"

_Dammit, not again_, you thought. Why was it so easy to cry around him?

Jean glanced all over your face before smiling back. "Idiot. Of course you can." You still held onto his hand tightly. You sniffed again as the tears spilled, falling onto the grass and dirt and staining it.

A gust of wind blew, causing more petals to fall to the ground. You stared at the stains on the dirt, smiling through your tears. Everything was beautiful. You looked back up to Jean to find him staring at you, his golden eyes warm and open. Why were they so different from before? What was that slight glint in those honey golden eyes, those very eyes that watched you cry, those very eyes that watched you smile, and laugh, and run, and walk, and everything that you did?

What was so different about those eyes that watched every single move you made, that small growing glint in them?

"Jean?"

He blinked, snapped out of his trance by your voice.

"What?"

"Nothing." You glanced down at your hand in his, blushing a little harder. Jean scowled and looked away, obviously just as embarrassed as you.

Suddenly you heard a bark and Bean tackled Jean, now awake. Jean screamed, voice high pitched, and you burst out laughing. You were cut off when Jean took you down with him, hand still holding onto yours. Bean sat atop the both of you, a paw planted on each of your chest. You groaned, head throbbing from where you hit Jean's bony shoulder. He laughed.

"What the fuck was that, man? You sounded like a guinea pig!" you said, laughing too.

"What? My scream?"

"Is that as manly as you can get it to be?"

"Shut up!"

You imitated his scream, making him scowl. You laughed even harder. "You sounded like an idiot!" you wheezed.

"Shut up!" he whined, laughing. Bean leaned down and licked his face, making him sputter.

"Down boy!" he ordered, and Bean complied. You let go of Jean's hand, missing the warmth right away, and stood. You stretched, stomach growling.

"I'm hungry," you announced, just as Jean's stomach grumbled loudly.

You snorted.

"Ready to go back, ya idiot?" he asked teasingly.

"Shut up, you dork."

"Once an idiot, always an idiot."

"To dork or not to dork." You smirked.

"Shut up." He smiled, teeth showing.

"No you!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, idiot."

You shook your head, smiling, as Jean turned away. But you grabbed onto his sleeve, catching his attention.

"Jean, what makes you happy?" you asked, gazing into his golden eyes.

He stared at you. "W-why do you ask?"

"We can mend each other right? Then…why don't we?"

A pause. He glanced down at your hand on his sleeve, then back to you. He turned his face away, a blush settling on his cheeks. "Talking about Marco makes me happy. Talking about him with you," he answered.

You blushed at his honesty. "Okay. Then talk to me when you want." You let go of his sleeve.

He only stared at you some more before turning away, saying, "Like I'll talk to anyone else."

That was true.

"Why won't you talk with anyone else?" you asked, following him as he lead the way back, Bean at your heels.

"I don't know," he said simply.

You glared at him. "Really?"

No answer.

"Sometimes people just don't know, _," he explained, glancing at you. You let his words sink in, not understanding them entirely.

You stepped over a rock carefully. "But there has to be a reason you're talking to me."

"Didn't I already tell you?" he asked, turning to face you. "Because I'm pretty sure I already told you."

_Oh yeah,_you thought._He did._

"Well, could you at least tell me why you stopped talking?" you asked.

He scowled, probably annoyed at the questions. You were asking about Marco not ten minutes ago; why was he so defensive now? Was it because the questions were aimed at him? You realized your wall may tumble completely when you were around him, but his had a few pieces standing.

"I stopped talking because no one would understand," he looked away. "He was my best friend for life. We we even made a pact to always stay together. And he broke it. And I know I shouldn't be…but I'm mad at him. I was never mad at him when he was here…"

Jean looked back to you and you realized there were tears welling up in his eyes. Now his wall had crumpled to the ground.

"Jean, stop saying 'was'," you said quietly," and start saying 'is'. Because he'll be found."

He wiped at his eyes. "You really don't know when to give up, do you?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Huh?"

"You don't get it, do you?" His eyes were full of anger now, and you felt very scared. Jean clenched his fists. "He's not coming back. He'll never come back. He's probably dead-"

_"Jean!"_you shouted, cutting him off.

"What?" he asked harshly.

"Stop saying those things! I thought you wanted to mend. But all you're doing is making it worse. I want to help you, but if you keep spewing those words from your mouth, then I will seriously shove the hope down your throat!"

You stared at him. He stared at you. Bean whined, nudging your foot. You looked down, sighing, and patted the German Shepard's head reassuringly. Why was Jean being so difficult? Did he really think there was no chance of Marco ever coming back? Did someone tell him these things or did he convince himself?

"Jean " you said.

"What?" He scowled again.

"Don't say those things. _Please_." He glanced at your eyes as you spoke, finding them thick with emotion. "Because if you loose hope, then I will, too."

His gaze softened. He stared at his shoes. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he whispered, loud enough for you to hear. "I'm sorry."

You could only stare at him helplessly as he began walking again. Finally reaching the end of the forest, you looked back to Jean. He wiped his eyes and mumbled, "I'm sorry. I say stupid things."

"Your feelings aren't stupid," you replied. "I don't know who told you that, but they're wrong. They're assholes."

He looked at you, surprise on his face. What, did he think what he had said was stupid?_Really?_Then if he thought like that, did he convince himself of it, of did somebody else tell him? Now you wanted to kick whoever told him that. Did he think you didn't care what he said? Of course you cared about him. Did he not see it?

He blushed, looking away and scratching at his cheek. "T-thank you."

You patted his shoulder. "You're welcome."

You parted ways, him crossing the street and you and Bean walking back home. That was when you realized you forget to clean your room.

And not to mention you promised to give Jean hope.

_**Not as long as I hoped it would be. Anyway, Feel New is getting a comic like MTaWB! :3 so pumped. BTW, does anyone actually listen to the suggested songs?**_

_**Don't own snk nor its characters**_


	6. Chapter 6

**Feel New Chapter Six: So Why The Hell Should I Go?**

_"Settle down, you'll all be clear  
>Don't pay no mind to the demons<br>They fill you with fear  
>The trouble-it might drag you down<br>If you get lost you can always be found  
>Just know you're not alone<br>'Cause I'm gonna make this place your home"_  
><strong>-Phillip Phillips "Home"<strong>

_The bottle fell to the floor, shattering into tiny pieces. You looked back up to your drunken father, realizing that if he wasn't so drunk that he could've hit you with the bottle. His rages were getting worse by the day as his drinking increased. At first it was just a can of beer a day, but then he was drinking stronger alcohol to dull the pain of the loss. You knew he was grieving. You knew he was broken, worn down to the bone. You knew he wanted to die just as much as you. You knew the pain he was feeling, the grief that wouldn't go away no matter how much he drank._

_You _knew.

_"Dad, please," you pleaded, now on the verge of tears._

_He only took another big swig from the bottle in his other hand and wiped at his mouth. He growled and kicked at the shards, sending them towards you. You shrunk back, cowering._

_"Shut up!" he yelled, voice thick and slurred. You could smell the alcohol from this distance._

_"Please," you whispered, tears spilling. "_Please_…"_

_With a roar, your father threw his now empty bottle at you and you stepped out of the way, terrified, but it hit your arm. Shards fell onto you, some cutting into your skin. You ran, out of the kitchen and up the stairs and to your room where you locked the door and wept against it, hearing crashes and bangs and shouts downstairs, muffled by the door. Your shoulder bleed from where a jagged piece of glass had scratched you, another shard lodged in your forearm. The other tinier cuts bled as well, though not as much._

_You stared at the dark red in horror. Your father was never like this when he drank. Sure, he would throw a bottle, but not at you. He never did that._

_You shrieked when you heard a loud thud downstairs, vibrating the whole house. You cried harder, covering your ears so you wouldn't hear anymore. You knew he would soon calm down and then pass out, and the next morning you would have to clean up his mess and his vomit from the floor, and then he would apologize and ask you for forgiveness and you would give it to him. He would promise to stop the drinking. To get better._

_Of course, he never did._

_And you got tired of hearing his empty apologies and hollow promises. This wasn't a place you wanted to be in anymore. Another loud boom echoed within the house, making your whimper. The pain in your shoulder was getting worse as you bled more._

_This house was red and always will be. Such an unwelcome color._

_This wasn't your home anymore.  
><em>—

You opened your eyes, confused. Did you just…fall asleep? Or did you just close your eyes? When did you close them? You shook your memories away, memories that you had locked up in a vault. Why were you remembering that at a time like this? You sighed through your nose and focused on the test in front of you.

School was boring as ever. You sat hunched over your math work, quickly figuring out the answer of the long ass question. You gazed around the room at your classmates as they worked furiously on the test before them. You barely even knew anything on it and couldn't even solve the first question. Still, you were stupid enough to take the test, even if you haven't even been in school for four months. You should've asked for an easier one. Your eyes landed on Jean, his hunched form hovering above his desk, nose an inch away from the paper, scrunched up in thought.

He still hasn't spoken to anyone but you and Hanji. Still no one.

You had to admit: you felt pretty damn special.

You turned back to your test and frowned at it, still not understanding what you had done wrong in your work. You checked it over and over again but still came up with the same solution. The answer wasn't even on the paper… And that's when you saw it. Right there, right in front of you. There it was: the answer, letter B. For some crazy shit reason you hadn't even seen it before. You shaded in the bubble, face palming both physically and mentally.

You had stayed at Hanji's for three weeks now. You felt pretty proud of yourself for staying so long. Levi had even called you the other day to congratulate you. You still remembered his words.

_"What took you so fucking long, _?"_

_You had shrugged. "This place is pretty interesting, I guess."_

_"Tch. Yeah right. She probably has you hostage. Need me to call in the S.W.A.T?"_

_You had chuckled and said with a smile_, _"No, Levi_.

You still remembered when you first arrived at Hanji's house, expecting to only last a few days. Instead, you lasted a few weeks, and still counting. The only thing keeping you from leaving was Jean. And Hanji's antics. But it was mostly Jean. You glanced at him again, finding him looking at you. You caught his gaze, causing him to frown and blush slightly before turning back to his test, chewing on his pencil eraser nervously.

He was doing that a lot more often. You'd look over to him and find him already looking at you, and then he would scowl or frown and blush. You found him doing that in particular a lot. Maybe he was just embarrassed you had caught his gaze? Or was it something else?

You shook off your thoughts and continued with your test until after another frustrating fifteen minutes, you answered the last question. Teachers would usually tell their students to check their work, but you knew most of them don't even do that. You didn't bother to check your work, not wanting to redo the problems and get confused all over again. What a pain in the ass.

You doodled on the back of your test, drawing the faint outline of a head. Carefully, you began sketching the features: the long thin nose, sharp jaw, the usual furrowed eyebrows, those observant eyes, and a pair of sealed lips that only opened to you. You quickly drew Jean's hair cut and shaded in the darker parts. You observed your work, finding that his chin maybe a bit too pointy and his eye a little lopsided, but overall he was pretty darn cute.

Wait_-what?_

You frowned. Why would you even think that? What was wrong with you? You pushed that weird thought away and looked up at the clock just as the bell rang, signaling the end of a long period. Your classmates groaned in relief and began packing up. You stood and gathered your things, not noticing Jean was beside you already, staring at your drawing of him. You turned to pick up your test, realizing he was right beside you, making you jump a little.

"Jesus Christ, man," you breathed. You followed his gaze to your doodle and blushed, moving to take it, but he snatched it before you could.

"This is amazing," he said quietly, eyes wide.

You scratched at your cheek. "I-it's nothing."

"Yeah right," he muttered, handing back your test. You quickly placed it on the pile on the teacher's desk, ignoring his lingering gaze on you and Jean as the two of you left the classroom.

You both had your lunch period together, which was where you were headed next. Thank god, because you were growing hungrier by the minute. You and Jean weaved through the mass of students to get to the cafeteria. It was fairly large; four long tables, six round tables, and there was even an eating area outside. You and Jean liked to eat outside since there was barely anyone who wanted to.

After you grabbed your lunch, you sat outside at the farthest table from the school, enjoying the warm sunlight. You munched on your sandwich, taking in the scenery. Well, you couldn't see much because Jean always sat in front of you and blocked your view from the school garden. He caught your gaze and glanced over his shoulder to the garden.

"Did Marco work there?" you asked quietly.

There was a pause before his answered. "Yeah. He loved it."

"Hm," you hummed.

He looked like he was about to say something else when his eyes shifted past your shoulder, returning to their indifferent state. You looked up in time to see Armin, Eren, and Mikasa set their trays down around you.

"Mind if we sit here?" asked Armin politely. You glanced at Jean and he rolled his eyes, shrugging his shoulders lightly.

"Uh, no its fine," you answered.

He smiled and the three of them sat down. You glanced at the three as they did so. When they settled down, an awkward silence lay heavy in the air.

"Um…," you began. "There something you guys want?"

Armin turned a little red. "Uh n-no."

"Are we, uh, interrupting something?" Eren asked, scratching his neck.

It took you a second to realize what he meant, and you blushed slightly at the implication. "N-no. What makes you say that?"

They were silent. It seemed like none of the three wanted to say anything. Jean picked at his salad, glancing from person to person at the table. That was when Mikasa spoke up.

"You're talking to him and he's answering. No one's done that before."

Eren joined in. "So we thought there might be something between you two…"

Armin shrugged. "It seems that you're pretty special."

You stared at them. "Seriously? That's what you think?"

"But he's_ talking_ to you!" Eren said.

"_And_?"

"We've been trying to make him talk for _months_! We've known him for _years _and even we couldn't manage to do that."

"Oh fuck off, Eren, she's different from the rest of you."

The four of you turned to Jean, who's eyes were only trained on Eren. He just…spoke out. Even Mikasa, who always seemed indifferent to everything, looked surprised. Eren opened and closed his mouth, not knowing what to say. As for you on the other hand, you started to clap.

"Atta boy, Jean!" you praised.

His eyes moved to yours. He rolled them, smiling a little. "Oh, shut up, _."

"I'm impressed; first me, then Hanji, and now Eren? Or should I say the three of them? Keep that mouth open, Jean."

"You're talking to me like I'm a fucking five year old."

"Well, sometimes you actually act like one, you big dork."

The other three watched you two bicker, speechless.

Eren finally spoke up, "W-wait…Jean, are you really talking?"

Jean looked back to Eren, forgetting the others were there. "Is my mouth moving and are words coming out?"

"I'm guessing sarcasm is included with his voice," Mikasa muttered, surprise gone. She picked at her yogurt.

You took a big bite out of your sandwich, smiling to yourself. Thank god he started talking. But would he keep doing so? Or was this just temporary?

Armin broke into a grin. "Wow! I'm happy for you, Jean!"

"Thanks, Blondy," he replied with a slight smile.

You snorted and swallowed. "Oi, Jean, we gotta go."

He sighed dramatically. "Yeah, I know."

The two of you stood and gathered your things, slinging your bookbags over your shoulders. Mikasa, Eren, and Armin watched as you turned and wiggled your fingers to them in a wave and followed Jean. He glanced at you sideways with an eyebrow raised and you only have him a small smile. He looked away, cheeks pink, and the two of your exited the cafeteria and headed for your next class.

—

The bell rang, signaling the end of the period. You gathered your things into your arms and walked out with Jean, heading for counseling. You glanced at Jean as you followed him down the stairs. He caught your gaze.

"What?" he asked.

"Uh, nothing."

The two of you rounded the corner into the hall where the room was. You watched Eren go inside. Why was he in there anyway?

You turned to Jean and opened you mouth to ask, but he said, "Killed two people when he was nine."

You sputtered, speechless. _"A nine year old?_ What? I don't believe you."

"Not lying. Mikasa's parents were murdered in front of her and she was kidnapped. I don't know all of the exact details, but I know Eren came in and killed two of her attackers. She stabbed the other one."

"Whoa. I don't…_wow._ Why isn't Mikasa in there?"

"She hates it."

"I could see why."

"Yes."

So the kid fucking killed someone. No, two people. How the _fuck_… And he looks so _harmless_… Now you were just… You didn't even know what to _feel_ or _how._ What feeling were you supposed to feel when you found out your friend killed someone? How did his parents feel like?

You were cut off abruptly from your thoughts when you bumped into Jean. He glanced at you before opening the door and letting you walk in first. You gazed at the cheesy yet somewhat encouraging posters on the walls and took a seat in front of the armchair in your usual spot beside Jean.

"Hi, Eren," you said a little too cheerfully, trying to forget the fact that the kid was capable of murdering. Must've been why he was such an outcast.

"Hey," the boy replied, twiddling his thumbs. His eyes moved to Jean. "Hi, Jean."

"Sup, Jaeger," he replied, making Eren grin.

"Man, everyone's missed that voice you know-"

The door opened and Rico stepped in holding a box of art supplies and rolled up posters. She looked at the three of you and smiled. "Hello, everyone! How are doing today?"

"Great," Eren said.

"Fine," you mumbled.

You glanced sideways at Jean, but he didn't say anything. Rico turned to look at him and asked, "Jean, how was your day?"

He turned to her and gave her a cheeky grin and answered, "I'm doing _fantastic_, Mrs. Brzenska. How are _you?_"

She stared at him, mouth open. "J-jean! W-well…uh…it's been good…thank y-you."

Eren piped up. "Jean's finally talking!"

Said person rolled his eyes. "It's not that big of a deal, Eren."

"What're you talking about?" you said. "Of course it's a big deal. It's your first step to mending."

He didn't say anything, only looked at you.

Rico lay the box on her chair and clasped her hands together. "Jean! I'm so happy for you! After all these months, none of us thought you would ever get better. I mean, you _lost _your _best friend_…"

_How forward,_ you thought.

Jean stared at her. "Um…yeah."

She wasn't done. "But now you have a new friend! The teachers have been seeing you talk to _, but we never thought you would start talking so soon. She's only been here for a month."

"I get it, Mrs. Brzenska-"

"But now you're talking! Oh, Jean! Have you spoken with your parents with?"

"Uh, no, but Mrs. B-"

"No? Well you must! They need to hear the news!"

Jean rubbed his temple, annoyed. You held back your laughter as the woman continued to babble, and then suddenly she was firing questions at you.

"How did you do it? How did you make him talk? I've been counseling him for all these months and nothing has worked on him."

The room fell silent as they waited for you to answer. Did they really want you to answer that? You weren't even sure how you were supposed to. But what did Jean say, about feeling the same things as him?

You opened your mouth and answered, "The only reason he spoke to me was because he found out we were the same." There. You weren't going to add anymore details; these were yours and Jean's secrets.

Mrs. Brzenska cocked an eyebrow, confused, but then looked like she kind of understood. Counselors could only help so much, but they lacked one thing, and that was understanding. Sure, they may know how a person reacts to a certain situation, but they don't know the weight of the grief, the pain, how horrible it feels to be detached from something you loved and cherished deeply. They didn't know how it felt like to be _ripped_ apart and then chewed up and spit out. They would never know until they experienced it themselves. You and Jean both lost someone, and so you both knew how heavy the grief was. Grief is like a brick tied to you that's dragging you down.

The weight of the brick varied from person to person, but nonetheless, was still a reminder to what it represented, and then it would become heavier and heavier until your eyes start glancing at your bathroom door more often until your feet took you over to it and the brick is just so heavy that you barely have enough strength to reach for the razor and bring it down to your wrists and just-

_Calm down, _you thought to yourself.

Rico must've noticed your little outburst because she asked, "Are you alright?"

You nodded, waving off her question. You nodded at the box. "What's with the art supplies?"

"Ah, yes! I thought you guys would help me set up posters for the end of the year Celebration that's coming in a few weeks. Since I'm in charge of getting word around, I need all the help I could get. And I thought maybe you guys would like to help!" She grinned at all of you.

You could tell she was excited. What was this Celebration anyway? Armin said the whole town participated in it since everyone loved summer. That's what he said, right? But was it like a…prom or something? A dance? Or just something like a festival? Whatever it was, you weren't sure if you wanted to go. But you glanced at the blank posters, itching to draw something on there. This would be the first thing you would have drawn since the accident…

"I'll help," you told Rico, who beamed at you.

"Me too," Eren said.

Rico turned to Jean, eyebrows raised. Jean shrugged, crossing his arms. "Fine."

The three of you helped move the chairs and clear out a space to lay the posters on the floor. You arranged the supplies beside you, disappointed at the shitty brands Rico brought, like Crayola and Cra-Z-art. But at least the paint tubes in there were decent. Rico, whom you thought would help the three of you, instead sat at her desk and shoved her earbuds in her ears and opened her laptop. Not a minute later did you hear loud opera singers blasting out of her ears that echoed throughout the room.

Finally you sat in front of the long, blank poster paper, holding a sharpened pencil in your hand, unsure of what to start with. You glanced at Eren, finding him already hard at work making bubble letters across the top. You felt a presence beside you and found Jean taking a seat on the ground, holding a box of markers in his hand.

"Need help with something?" he asked, opening the box and letting the markers fall into the space between the two of you.

"What's does the Celebration even have? I mean…what am I supposed to draw on here?"

"Ah. Well, there's always the fireworks show. And there are lots of booths to go to, and there's the arcade."

"Arcade?"

"Yeah, but most of the games on there are shooting games."

"Really?"

"Yeah…" He looked confused. "Wait, you like those kinds of games?"

"Hell yeah," you said, flashing him a grin.

"Oh." He looked absolutely baffled. "You don't look like you play those games."

"Looks can deceive," you replied. "Now what else?"

"There's funnel cake. I think they're having a contest this year again with the prize being a giant funnel cake. I think you have to go up against other contestants in a race or something? I don't know."

Eren spoke up without taking his eyes from the paper, causing you and Jean to turn to look at him, "So are you two going together?"

"What do you mean?" asked Jean.

"Haven't you heard? There's a dance this year in it."

"Wait," you said, something clicking into place in your head. "Do you mean like…as a couple?"

Eren looked at you like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "_Duh_."

"Uh, no. We're not…no."

"What made you say _that_, Eren?" Jean asked, scowling and doing that thing with his hand on his cheek, almost like he was covering something.

The other teenager shrugged. "You guys just look like a match."

You glanced at Jean and did the same as you. What was Eren talking about? As if. You were barely a match for anyone. How could someone as broken as you ever be loved by someone else? That is, unless they're broken as well. Wait_-why_ are you thinking about this? These kinds of thoughts haven't occurred to you since the accident. When did this start happening?

"_?" Jean waved a hand in front of your face, snapping you out of your trance.

"Huh?"

"What's up with you all of a sudden?"

"N-nothing." You stared back at the blank poster, raising your pencil and leaning over the paper.

"So are you going?" asked Eren.

You sketched a faint line on the paper, curving it into the letter C. "Going where?"

"Celebration, idiot," Jean scoffed, opening a box of colored pencils and setting them beside you.

"Oh. No."

"Why not?" Eren asked, confusion in his voice.

"Well, why should I go? I have things to do." That was a lie. You didn't like going out, especially if there was going to be a lot of people in a cramped place. It just didn't feel right to you. Not only that, but you were afraid of the cluster of people. It reminded you of the accident, when the impact had crushed the car, causing it to cave into you, and the swarms of policemen, paramedics, and firefighters. You'd rather not be reminded of the accident.

"It's fun," was all Eren said. You didn't say anything, only sketched the rest of the bubble letters. He turned to Jean and asked him the same thing.

"Not going."

"Well okay then. Stay home and do your lame ass things."

You looked at Jean, finding him avoiding your gaze and pretending to struggle with fixing the straps of his wrist watch. You knew there was more behind his answer. He wouldn't say just anything in front of anyone. He would talk to you later, or maybe you would ask him about it. But you knew it had something to do with Marco.

The three of you were silent as you worked on your posters, the sound of pencil tips scratching on the paper and muffled opera music the only sounds in the room. It was so quiet you could hear the clock ticking. It was getting annoying. You reached behind you, knowing there was a pack of markers behind you. Your hand touched something else, and, startled, you turned around.

Your hand was on Jean's thigh, the markers you hoped you were grabbing right beside his leg. He stared at you, startled just as much as you. You blushed and quickly snatched the pack of markers, muttering a quick, "Sorry," and turning back to your poster, ignoring his gaze on you. You thanked your hair for falling into your face and covering your red cheeks. Oh god, why didn't you just turn around and take the markers _WHILE_ looking? Why didn't you just ask him to give you them? You realized that if you aimed a little higher, things would have been _much worse_.

Again, that awkward silence was killing you.

But then the bell rang.

You thanked the gods and quickly shoved the markers into their boxes and helped clean up, fumbling with the posters. _Fuck_, just _fucking_ great, _fucking_ awesome, _fucking_ peachy keen.

You hurried out of the room, not even waiting for Jean. You already knew he was behind you anyway. You quickly made it to your next class, knowing that for two periods you wouldn't see him.

—

When it was homeroom again, you dragged yourself into the empty classroom, having accidentally ran too quickly through the halls and arrived early. You ignored Mr. Zacharius's loud sniffs. You had gym a few periods ago and still smelled a little if sweat, your deodorant masking most of it. Key word_: most_.

You fell into your seat, happy that it was a Friday and that there was no homework for the day. You brought out your notebook and doodled on a random page, ignoring the rest of your classmates filing into the room rather noisily, laughing or talking loudly. Jean sat at his seat beside you with a sigh. You glanced at him before turning back to your doodles, though calling them doodles was most likely an understatement due to how realistic the people you were drawing on the paper were. You felt Jean's looming presence above you, watching you draw.

"Can I see your sketchbook?" he asked.

"How do you know I have a sketchbook?"

"Don't all artists have one?"

You looked at him. "Well, you got me there. You can, but I don't have it with me. It's at my house."

"Oh. Okay."

You continued drawing, enjoying the silent room. Wait- _silent?_ You looked up and found the whole class staring at you and Jean, surprise in their faces. You had forgotten that not everyone knew about Jean and his now open mouth.

"H-he _spoke_?" asked Ymir.

"Thank the gods!" Connie cried, pulling back his head and raising his hands to the ceiling like he was actually thanking the gods.

"Yay, Jean!" squeaked Christa.

Someone started clapping, and soon others joined in. You thought they were being sarcastic, but when you looked more closely at their faces, you realized that they were relieved. They really thought Jean wouldn't open his mouth ever again. You grinned at Jean and he scowled at all the attention, cupping his cheek with his hand and resting his elbow on his desk.

"Yeah, yeah, whoop-_dee_-doo," he muttered when the clapping and cheers were settling, causing a few chuckles to go around the room.

You snorted a little too loud, catching the attention of your classmates. _Oh fuck_.

"Wasn't Jean just talking to her?" asked Reiner.

"I'm telling you guys, she _made_ him like this!" Connie said.

Chatter burst among your classmates as they spoke to one another. You stared at them, surprised by their sudden transition. It reminded you of Hanji.

"Annoying as fuck," Jean muttered to himself.

You laughed lightly. "Does everything annoy you?"

"Oh don't worry; you don't annoy me."

"I'm flattered."

He snickered, hiding most of it with his hand. You spent the rest of homeroom doodling and trying to ignore Jean watching you. Maybe you really were helping him.

—

You had lost Jean in the hallway, so you decided to do something productive, so you found yourself standing outside the school's library. There were two entrances to the library actually, one from the inside of the school, the other on the outside nearby the outside lunch area. You stared at the glass doors, contemplating whether or not you should go or in or just go home. But curiosity got the better of you, so you pushed through the glass doors and into the library.

You underestimated its size. You though it was fairly big, but it was huge. The ceiling was so high, and up there you saw hundreds of hands, people's hands, that they covered with paint and pressed into the white ceiling. Each had a different design in the palm, some had hearts or animals or intricate lines and boxes that formed a figure. And these hands covered the whole ceiling, some overlapping others due to barely any room. The walls were covered in posters for movies that you recognized had been based off of books. The shelf to your left was full of comic books and manga, a shelf behind it occupying the rest of the collection. In front of those two shelves were multiple tables and chairs, which, to you, looked like you could sit at for hours. To your left was a very cluttered c shaped desk that curved in front of a long wall. You assumed it was the librarian's desk, as well as the check out and check in desk. The piles of books on the desktop were stacked so high, you thought the principal might consider purchasing a _'_**DANGER'** sign. It looked as if those things could topple any moment. And the stacks were all along the counter, the only space not take up by books was the part in front of the computer.

You glanced at the rest of the room. In the back was a row of computers, where multiple students sat at, typing reports, researching, or either playing weird computer games. The bookshelves stood in rows like a silent yet proud army, the tops of the shelves touching the ceiling. Some shelves were shorter than others, so they were able to advertise books on the tops of them. You spotted a reading encouragement poster here and there among the shelves as you walked forward, letting your fingers brush over the dust covered books. You recognized many of them. Your mother loved to read. It was something she always did in her free time. You hated reading. It was so difficult for you. Sometimes you would read a word, but when you looked back at it, it was an entirely different word. Letters would become alien symbols in a matter of seconds after opening a book. Loud rummaging behind the librarian desk caused you to look back at it. You spotted a flash of red and there was a loud _twack!_ behind the desk, followed by a sharp intake of breath and an, "Ouchies!"

You raised an eyebrow. Who the heck says '_ouchies' _when they're in pain? You strode to the desk, curious. You peered through the empty section of books.

"Hellooo…?" you said, timid.

A face appeared behind the computer, blue eyes meeting your (e/c) orbs. Freckles covered the skin below them, littering the man's face with dots. Red hair sat in long messy clumps atop his head. His mouth curled into a smile, and he pushed up his glasses that sat on the bridge of his nose.

"Oh! Hey there!" he greeted, rubbing his head. He cocked it, inspecting your face. "I don't think I've seen you around here…you new?"

You nodded slowly. "Ah…are you okay?" you asked, glancing at the hair sticking up on his head, knowing that that was where he bumped it.

"Huh? Oh yeah, I'm fine. Um, is there anything I can help you with?"

"Oh. Um, book?"

"I would never have guessed. By the way, I'm the librarian here, Mr. Francis." He spun around in his swivel chair behind the computer, grinning cheekily to himself.

"You seem pretty young to be a teacher," you commented, watching him spin.

"Ah well. I get that a lot actually. I've been working here for a while. I'm actually only 24."

_Shit, this guy is young_, you thought.

"Then what're you doing working in a library? You could be working somewhere else, somewhere greater."

He huffed, looking at you strangely. Mr. Francis answered, "Well, that's because I like this job. It's comforting being surrounded by books." He pushed up his glasses indignantly.

"How is that comforting?"

He paused. "You're not fond of reading, aren't you?"

"Not much."

"Why not?"

You shrugged. "I try to read something and the words get all mixed up in my brain."

"So you see this as a reason to stop?"

"Sure."

He leaned back in his chair, swaying side to side. "Hm. Have you ever thought that if you keep reading, then maybe it'll get easier to do so?"

You paused. "No."

"Lets to find you a book then!" He smiled and stood, coming around to stand beside you. "Uh, what's your name?"

"_?"

"_? Oh. _Oh_," he repeated. You glanced at him, seeing that familiar look of pity that you knew all too well in his eyes.

"I've heard about you," was all he said. You understood right away.

"Everyone knows about me," you muttered.

"I know how you feel," he said, leading you throughout the vast library. His blue eyes skimmed over book titles, searching for the right one. He glanced over his shoulder to look at you and gave you a small smile.

You scowled. _Yeah right_, you thought.

"You don't want to be known as the girl who's in a foster home. You don't want to be remembered as the girl everyone pitied and felt bad for, not knowing how strong she could be," he went on absently, choosing a thin chapter book.

You swallowed. "_C-crap_. I guess you do know how I feel… What are you-physic?"

He chuckled lightly. "No. I never went through what you did. The only loss I ever experienced was when my grandmother died. When you read a lot, you don't just read about a story. You read about a person's life. And you read about them, you find the chinks in their armor before they can themselves, you know what they're thinking without them realizing it." He turned to you and handed you the book. "It's just the same with real people."

You stared up at him sheepishly, taking the book. You inspected the cover, two bare feet standing in the dirt, the coloring black and white. You read the title_, 'Pictures of Hollis Woods_.' You turned it over and looked at the back.

"I think you'll find that you connect with Hollis on some levels, if not all. She's a really well made character."

"Thanks for the book," you said quietly, eyes widening at the words as you read the summary with some difficulty.

He looked at you sympathetically. "I used to hate reading, too. But when I got to college, I found that it was so important for me to read. I was the slowest reader in the whole campus."

"Is that all a book can do?" you asked.

He clicked his tongue, running a hand through his shaggy red hair. "Of course not. Books make you feel better, they distract you from this world and bring you into a new one. It's a great experience."

You stared at the book in your hands. How could a book make you feel better?

"I can tell you're doubting me," said the librarian, "but once you start reading that book, you'll see."

Will you really? You couldn't even see the truck that slammed into your mother's car. You wanted to say that, but knew it wouldn't really help with anything.

"Is there anything else you need?" Mr. Francis asked.

You shook your head, but then though better of it and said, "Actually, have you seen Jean? I usually walk with him and I lost him in the halls…"

"Jean? Oh yeah. He comes in here a lot, but I remember hearing he has guitar lessons after school every Tuesday and Thursday."

Well, today was Tuesday. "Ah, thanks," you said, and turned around to leave. You pushed through the doors that lead into the school as Mr. Francis called to you, "Tell me how the book goes!"

You didn't reply and started down the hall and rounded a corner, now in the main stairwell. You stopped in your tracks and mentally smacked yourself in the forehead. You forgot to ask what room Jean was in_. Dammit,_ you thought, annoyed. Now how were you going to find him?

_Think, _. Where would guitars be? In a music room, right. So where's the music room? By the bandroom? Then where's the bandroom?!_

You sighed and decided to go floor by floor, starting with the one you were on. It was tedious, but you made your way searching two floors until you reached the bottom level. Breathing quite heavily, you stepped off of the stairs and turned down the hall. You walked and quickly glanced into classrooms, occasionally looking into a faculty room and such. Giving up halfway through the floor, you pivoted on your heel and started the other way, deciding to walk home alone. That was when you heard a faint noise, a strum-almost like a piece of heaven. You whirled around and followed the noise, coming upon double doors that led into a large room. Through the window you could see chairs arranged in a semi circle, a podium in the center. All along the walls were lockers. They varied in size, from something half of your own locker to something about the size of a small bookcase. You pushed through the doors, the guitar music louder than before. Posters hung all over the walls where there was space, musical notes and charts printed on them. On top of the lockers were trophies and group photo after photo of different years and generations of students were displayed for all to see. There was only one other person in the room, who sat in a chair with your back to you, strumming away at the guitar, starting at the music in front of him.

You walked as quietly as you could to Jean, standing behind him as he played. You recognized the song when you looked down at the sheet music, reading the words printed below the notes.

_'Look at the stars  
>Look how they shine for you<br>And everything you do  
>And they were all yellow.'<em>

It was Coldplay.

That was when you realized he wasn't playing anymore, instead he was staring at his music with wide eyes like he couldn't fathom what he was seeing. But ever so slowly, he stiffly turned his head to gaze up at you slowly, startled.

He made a surprised noise and asked in a strained voice, "What are you doing here?"

"I didn't know you played guitar," you said, ignoring his question. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You never asked…"

"Whatever. You can keep playing; I won't disrupt you or anything."

He turned back to the music, grumbling as you sat down next to him. "You already disrupted me…"

You rolled your eyes and waited for him to play. He only stared at his music, brows furrowed like he was trying to concentrate. He let out a huge sigh and turned to you, leaning back in his chair and clutching his guitar. "I can't do this."

"Why not?"

"I don't like it when people are staring at me when I play. It's _fucking _annoying."

"Oh well I'm sorry," you said a little too harshly.

"Whatever," he growled, mouth twitching.

You frowned. _What's his problem?_

He raised his hand and strummed the guitar, the sound reverberating throughout the empty bandroom.

"Nice," you breathed, liking the sound of the open strings.

He glanced at you quickly before turning back to his music again, slumping. He sighed loudly, and you rolled your eyes. You stood. "If you don't want me here, then I'll go," you said.

"No, no! Don't go…"

"What? I though you didn't like it when people were around when you played."

"I don't it's just…"

"Don't want me here?"

"No, no! You see, that's the problem." He waved his hands, gesturing to all of you. "It's…_you_. If you're here then I can't concentrate right for some reason."

Dumbfounded, you sat down. "Okay then. What do you suppose I do, then?"

"Stay. _Please_." He looked away, making a face that made him look like a little kid.

"Fine."

He attempted to play again as you sat and watched him. You noticed that as time passed on, the number of restarts and errors decreased. You shifted a little closer to look at his music better, curious, when he suddenly played the wrong note loudly, his guitar pick falling into the instrument.

"Fuck!" he cursed, laying the guitar down on its back to peer into the sound hole.

"Oopsies," you said, worried. "How are you going to get that out?"

He but his lip. "Give me that pencil over there."

You took the pencil from the podium and gave it to him. He slid the pencil in between the strings into the sound hole, the tip digging into the pick. He stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as he repositioned the guitar so it was on its side, the pencil still keeping the guitar pick in place. Quickly, he let the guitar fall onto his lap, strings first, letting go of the pencil. He produced the pick from underneath the guitar, grinning wickedly.

"Smart," you commented.

"It happens a lot," he said.

He played again, strumming the intro. You looked at the notes for it: A, Asus, D, D2, A, and Asus again. You moved closer to Jean absently. He suddenly strummed the wrong strings and shifted his hand down the finger board, causing a high and low sound to resonate through the room. You cringed.

"_Jesus,_ Jean," you said.

"S-shut up," he growled, positioning his fingers on the frets. He tried to play the intro again, but failed when he played the wrong note.

He groaned and lay his guitar on its side beside him. "I need a break."

"Come on, Jean!" you coaxed. "You can do it! Just concentrate!"

"Concentrate my ass," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

You pouted and took his head in your hands, making him look at you. "_Concentrate!_" you said, louder and more firm this time. His wide eyes stared at you, startled, and his cheeks turned pink. His eyebrows furrowed and he looked away, grumbling, "Okay, okay. Now can you let go of my face?"

You did, allowing him to lean back. His cheeks were still pink, and he raised the hood of his hoodie a little higher over his neck, almost like he was creating a barrier between the two of you.

He picked up the guitar and took a deep breath. His fingers moved to their places on the frets for the first note. He strummed, going on with the intro. You rocked in your chair to the tempo. Your eyes left his sheet music to look at his face, finding it relaxing as he played. You hummed the lyrics, hoping it would help him with playing. He played a wrong note, but continued like nothing happened.

You opened your mouth and sang, "_And your ski-in, oh yeah your skin and bones. Turn in-into something beautiful."_

God, you sounded horrible. You grinned and swayed from side to side, still singing. _"And you kno-ow, you know I love you so."_

You paused in your singing to let him play before opening your mouth again to say:

"_You know I love you so."_

He smiled, playing louder and with more confidence. You laughed a little. Even if you were a horrible singer, you thought that this was fun. You always enjoyed your time with Jean. But something was different about today. There was definitely something in the air. Was it the music? Somewhere deep inside you you already knew the answer, but it was still waiting to come out.

It'll come.

You and Jean stayed in the bandroom until it was almost five. The whole time you were laughing and watching him play, occasionally singing along. He even taught you a few chords. Now walking on the sidewalk in the cool April air, you hummed and kicked your feet a little, adding a bounce to your walk. Jean gripped his bookbag straps, watching your feet match his pace rather lazily.

"When can I see your sketchbook?" he asked quietly, almost like he was afraid of asking.

You eyed him. "I could show you when I get home if you want. You could stay for dinner…" you suggested. What were doing? As if he'd want to stay for dinner! And come to your house? Wow, you were actually _inviting _him this time. You smacked yourself in the forehead mentally.

"Sure, we could stop by your house. But I won't be able to stay for dinner though," he said with a hint of sadness.

"Why not?" You edged closer to the curb with Jean to let a woman and her stroller walk past. The baby waved his toy in the air.

"I have some parents to talk to," he answered with a sigh.

"Oh. Okay." You gave him a smile.

He stared at you and then looked away, playing with his watch straps. Why was he being like that so much?

"What's gotten you into my sketchbook all of a sudden?" you asked him.

"I like you're drawings."

"They're fine…"

"They're _beautiful."_

You scratched at you cheek, feeling your face heat up. Compliments always had this affect on you.

"Bu…_ehh._.," you stammered, not knowing what to say.

"You need more confidence in yourself," he said, smirking at your reaction. "Believe in yourself more, you know?"

"Sure. But that's some pretty cheesy advice."

"Sometimes cheesy is the only way to go, _," he replied.

"So cheesy is good then?"

"Uh-huh."

You felt the corners of your mouth curl into a small smile. Soon you came upon your street. You took the lead and picked up your pace. You stepped over the cluttered lawn and flicked the pink lawn flamingo, causing it to sway, and up the porch stairs. You heard Jean noisily try to make his way through without breaking anything, but it wasn't going well.

You produced your keys from your bookbag and unlocked the door, stepping inside with a sigh of relief.

"Finally inside," you breathed, dropping your pack on the floor by the stairs.

"I never get tired of walking in here," Jean commented, closing the door.

"Why is that?"

"Because of all these carvings," he answered, picking up the sculpture of the boy and the dog, examining it.

"Hanji's great, huh?"

"Yup."

You went into the kitchen and opened the freezer. You took out a Popsicle and looked back into the living room to find Jean still looking at the carving of the boy. "Oi, Jean," you called. "Want a Popsicle?"

"Yeah, sure," he answered, not looking up.

You took another one for him and ripped the paper off of yours and took a big bite from it. You handed him his own Popsicle and gestured to the stairs with a flourish.

"My sketchbook awaits you," you said, making him snort unholyly.

The two of you went up the long flights of stairs to your room, breathing heavily. You closed your bedroom door behind you as Jean gazed around the room.

"You have a bigger room than mine," he commented, biting his Popsicle in half. Your teeth chattered when you hit into yours. Sensitive teeth sucked.

"This is my domain," you replied, gesturing to the whole room.

"Uh-huh," he said, unimpressed.

Rolling your eyes, you strode to your drawing desk and opened the drawers, searching for your sketchbook, biting the popsicle. You moved the color pencils away and found it: the brown covering and black metal spiraling around the holes to keep it in place. But this was one of your newer sketchbooks that you hadn't even filled with any drawings yet. That was when you realized the only one with drawings in it was the one from the accident. You paused, contemplating whether or not you should give it to him to see. You took another bite from your frosty goodness on a stick before moving the brown sketchbook aside and looked at the one from the accident. The yellowing cover was ripping by the edges. You didn't even know why you kept it; there was a bloodstain on the back of it. It would always remind you of the day your life changed.

"You okay?" Jean asked, noticing you bent over the opened drawer stiffly. He came up beside you, worry etched into his features. You noticed that in his hand was a Popsicle stick. _Already?_

You cleared your throat. "I'm fine," you said a little too harshly. You handed him the old sketchbook and closed the drawer.

He stared at you, confused. "You don't seem alright."

"I'm _fine_," you said, trying to add as much sincerity as you could to your tone.

"Nope. You're not."

"And what makes you say that?"

"Because that's how I am," he answered, "pretending everything is fine when it isn't." He looked down at your sketchbook. "Does it have something to do with this?"

You didn't answer and only watched as he turned it over to look at the back, his eyes widening at the bloodstain. Suddenly the emotions you forced down were jumping into your throat, threatening to hold a Boston tea party and dump its contents all over the place. You leaned on the drawing desk, staring at your feet.

"_…I didn't know," he gulped.

"You know, my dad told me to throw that thing away when I was still living with him. He tried taking it from me once, but I managed to get it away from him." You laughed sadly and cast aside your Popsicle stick. "And to think I don't want to be reminded of that day. I still kept it. Ironic."

He could only stare at you, not knowing what to say. You waved your hand, gesturing at the sketchbook. "Go ahead; open it."

Jean did so slowly, eyebrows knitted in worry. The first few drawings were only sketches and ideas that would never be finished. A boy riding a bicycle, but his legs were missing, as well as most of the bike; a woman and her child during the holocaust, waiting for the train to arrive and take the boy away because of kindertransport; your mother, lifting your baby sister in the air, laughing and the corners of her eyes crinkling like they always did when her mouth was upturned in a smile; a light sketch of a leaf; an orange; and then the portrait of your baby sister.

Jean stared at the drawing, eyes wide and taking in every detail. Your eyes welled up with tears, and then all of those emotions were on the verge of bursting. Why was it that every time you were alone with him, you were reduced to tears? You felt so vulnerable. You didn't want to feel like this anymore. You didn't want to feel anything anymore. You wanted it to be _numb_.

He glanced up at you and his gaze softened when he saw your reddening eyes. "_…," he trailed off, closing the sketchbook. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked-"

"No." You took a shaky breath and smiled reassuringly at him. "There are just somethings you always have to say, right? I-I think this is one of those times."

"What do you mean?"

"The accident, Jean," you answered, taking a seat at your drawing table. You turned the chair so you faced him. Jean sat on the carpet in front of you, the sketchbook still in his hands.

"That last drawing is of my little sister," you began. "We were in the car, driving to the store. It was you going to be her birthday soon, so we were going to get streamers and paper cups and that shitty shit. She really liked the color purple. And Minnie Mouse. I always take my sketchbook with me, so I could draw, you know? So I drew her because I was bored and because she was beside me in her booster seat, and she was pretending to be an elephant, using her arm as a trunk." You smiled at the memory, the sweet and innocent memory. "My dad called at that moment, and my mom went to answer it. She took her eyes off of the road for two seconds, Jean. _Two._

"But even if it was two seconds, it was enough for the truck to slam into the side of the car, the side my sister's booster seat was on. You know how people say that in a snap, their lives have changed? I think I get what they're saying. And I was drawing. When the truck hit us, it moved my hand and made that ugly mark on the sketch. I _hate_ that mark. Why haven't I erased it?

"And you know why I can't stand oranges? _Because it was an orange truck, Jean_. The _fucking_ smell of oranges was everywhere that day, it was the only thing I smelled when I came to. And the blood. Oh _god_, the _blood._ The paramedics say that if it wasn't for the way the truck driver had swerved, we could have been crushed, and we all would have died. One of them told me I was lucky_. Lucky?_ What's so lucky about _loosing _your mom and baby sister? She had a future, Jean. And just thinking about that…it makes me so _fucking angry_. And I don't know who to blame! The truck killed them, but then again, my father called us when he knew we were driving, but why did my mom answer?"

You realized tears were streaming down your cheeks. You sniffed and wiped your eyes. Jean stared at you, eyes emotionless.

"I don't even know what to feel anymore," you said. "I don't know anymore. And sometimes, the only thing I can register from the damn sea of emotions is anger."

"Do you sometimes wish everything was numb?" he asked.

You nodded. "I don't want to feel anything anymore. It's too _damn _much."

"But…wouldn't that mean it would take away the good emotions, too? What about joy?"

You blinked. You never thought of it that way.

"And what about love?" he asked, staring at his hands. "Does that mean we loose that feeling, too?"

You stayed silent.

"I don't want to loose it," he said quietly, barely above a whisper. "But I feel like I _already_ am…"

You knew what he meant. There was nobody who would love you the way the person you lost did. _Ever._ There was a giant hole in your hearts, and it grew as that love was no longer given. And soon you really would feel nothing_. Nothing but pain_. All you wanted was for someone to fill that hole. But being here with Jean made it seem like it was being filled. Jean…your best friend…was filling your _heart_? Were you doing the same for him?

"Thank you," Jean said, interrupting your thoughts.

You looked up at him. His eyes were downcast.

"For what?" you asked.

"For making me feel like I'm not dying," he said, and he looked up to you and you realized his eyes were welled up with tears.

"It's hard for the both of us, I know. Especially when no one knows how it is. But you know what? _I don't care_."

You stared at him, dumbfounded.

"Why? Because I have _you_." He was practically growling. "And you have _me_. So I things are going to be just fine."

"Jean…"

"I know its cheesy, but sometimes you just have to roll with it." Jean grinned up at you, and you watched a tear roll down his cheek slowly. "I mean, cheesy is good right?"

You sniffed, and wiped at your eyes, nodding. You left your chair and found yourself welcomed into his warm embrace. This time, it wasn't you with the crumbled walls. It was the two of you now, holding onto each other, comforting each other without even knowing it, filling the hole in your hearts. You didn't care…he didn't care. Screw those damn walls.

You were home.

_**I cried three times writing this.. Sorry for the terribly long wait. This is a very long chapter! Over 9,300 words!? Phew!**_

_**I don't own snk nor its characters.**_


	7. Chapter 7

**Feel New Chapter Seven: Your Eyes Told Me More That Night Than Your Lips Would Ever Say**

_"Take my hand  
>Take my whole life, too<br>For I can't help  
>Falling in love<br>With you"  
><em>**-Elvis Presley "I Can't Help Falling In Love With You"**

_Your little sister giggled from her booster seat, kicking her feet. Sighing, you stepped into the car, sketchbook, pencil, and eraser in hand. It was almost (insert random little sister name here)'s birthday, and your mother insisted that it should be something special, unlike last year. That ended in a total disaster when (little sister name) kicked the cake by accident and the candles fell. They were lit._

_Your mother sat in the driver's seat with a sigh, shutting the door beside her._

_"What color do you want your streamers?" she asked her youngest daughter as she continued to giggle and kick her feet._

_"Purple!" she responded._

_"As always," you said. "Why do you even ask?"_

_"Kids go through phases," she said simply, turning on the ignition. The car roared to life and you buckled your seat belt, making sure (little sister name)'s belt was in as well._

_Sitting beside her was usually annoying since she made a lot of noise, but you found ways to zone her out completely. One of those was drawing._

_Flipping your sketchbook open to a clean page, you readied yourself with your trusty HB pencil and eraser as your mother put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway. You asked for her to turn up the radio and she did, and you hummed along with the local radio station's tunes, though they were much too pop for you._

_You glanced sideways at your little sister as she stared out the window beside her, her wide eyes taking in the whir of colors as the car sped on by. Not taking your eyes away from her, you managed to get an outline of her head. Tongue sticking out the corner of your mouth, you fixed up the lines and continued down with the rest of her body. You clutched the sketchbook to your chest to keep it from moving with the car's movements._

_Just when you were getting used to the loud noises (little sister name) was making, she began to chant, "Twinkle, twinkle, little star! How I wonder what you are!"_

_You cringed. She barely knew how to speak, but she knew how to sing that lame song perfectly. As she continued on with her war cries, you glanced up at your mother as her cell phone rang, you hand hovering above the page. You glanced at (little sister name)'s hand and began sketching her finger when suddenly there was a loud honk of multiple cars._

_Your whole body jerked to the side, your head banging against the window, causing you to cry out in pain. There was a scream and the sound of tires squealing and a loud crash. You strained to keep your eyes open as pain throbbed all throughout your body, something wet trickling down the side of your head. You could see sunlight streaming in through the broken windows, the headlight of a car blocking most of it. The blurred form of your hunched over little sister and the sound of little thumps was all you heard before you blacked out._

_You opened your eyes, head hanging and blood trickling down the side of it. The pain was unbearable, the throbbing only intensifying it. You blinked multiple times and wrinkled your nose to the smell of gasoline. But there was something worse in the air._

_Oranges._

—

Holding the hand drawn poster in place, you ripped a piece of tape off from the dispenser and stuck it onto the corner of the paper. You patted it down and stepped back, observing you work in the empty school hallway.

_'Celebration Is Here!'_ read the top in bright letters. Below it was information Rico had you type and glue onto the poster. Beside it were little drawings of what would be there, like the arcade, funnel cake, carnival booths, and other activities.

Down in the other hall Jean and Eren were hanging a poster of their own. Rico made the three of you stay after school to hang them up.

"_I simply have no time on my hands to hang them_!" she had said, and right afterwards she plugged in her earbuds and started watching her operas.

Some teacher, you thought to yourself as you stuck on the last piece of tape.

You picked up the three other rolled up posters and shoved them under your arm, slipping through the strap of your book bag and went on to the other hallway where Jean and Eren were, passing the main stairway. As you neared the end of the hall, you could hear them bickering.

"So is it love or like?" asked Eren.

"I don't…just shut up already. Like? No. Just shut up."

"Hah! Denial is the key."

"Don't make me punch you."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me, fuck face."

You rounded the corner at the end of the hall, finding the two of them taping up the poster. Jean looked like he was close to pulling back his fist and hitting Eren, but the other boy was only grinning mischievously at him. It had only been three days since Jean began talking again. Apparently he had spoken to his parents and told them all about you, from what he had told you himself while walking home from school one day.

_"You told them about me?"_

_He'd scowled. "Well, kinda. My dad asked if there was, um, a girl involved. He saw us, uh, well me going into your house with you, but, um."_

_"He took it the wrong way didn't he?" you had asked._

_"Yeah, pretty much. Now my parents want to meet 'the girl who got my son talking' and my annoying siblings think we're dating."_

_"Whoa."_

_He'd rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Y-yeah. And guess what?" He had laughed nervously._

_"What?"_

_"My parents want to invite you over for dinner," he had said with a smile._

That was yesterday. You still hadn't given him an answer on whether you were going or not. You told him you needed Hanji's permission, but you hadn't even told her about it yet. Truth was, you were just…_worried._ Would his parents think you were in a relationship with him? But on the other hand, you were curious to meet his family, even if it meant they would misunderstand your actual relationship with Jean.

You were friends, strictly that. _Right?_

Eren snickered when he saw you, and Jean turned around. His eyes widened and his face turned red from embarrassment.

"It's okay, Jean," you said. "I like you, too."

His face turned even redder. Eren snickered again and asked, "As a friend?"

"Yeah."

At your words, Jean relaxed. You raised an eyebrow. Was he actually relieved?

Eren slumped his shoulders. "Aww."

You narrowed your eyes at the dark haired male. "What?" you asked, adding as much ice in your tone as you could muster.

He squeaked out a short, "Nothing!"

Jean snorted.

You grinned at him and then said to the two of them, "Come on, you idiots. We have posters to hang."

"You sound like we're going to kill them," Eren muttered.

You spent the next twenty minutes going around the halls in the school on every floor, hanging a poster here and there and moving one when they seemed to close to each other and then moving them back.

Finally the three of you were done. Eren said goodbye as he parted ways, saying he was going to pick up something at the library. You and Jean walked out of school.

"Don't you have guitar lessons?" you asked him.

He shook his head. "The teacher isn't here today."

"Oh."

You walked in silence for a while longer. You kicked your feet a little, hopping over the cracks in the sidewalk. The breeze tousled your hair and you smiled.

Jean raised an eyebrow as you walked ahead of him. "Whoa there tiger," he said.

"It's almost summer man!" you called back to him.

"Yeah, and about summer. I-I've been thinking."

"What?"

"Maybe…we…you know, like, the two of us…go to Celebration?" You glanced over your shoulder to look at him, stopping in your tracks. He looked so panicked.

"I thought you said you weren't going," you said.

"I…." He opened and closed his mouth before finally answering, "I guess I changed my mind?"

"That sounds more like a statement than a question."

"I-it did?"

"Jean, you don't have to be so flustered if you want to hang out with me," you said, raising an eyebrow.

"That's what not talking for, like, a year does to you," he replied, though it didn't sound so convincing. You decided to just leave it at that

"So is that a yes…?"

"Yeah, sure, I'll go with you." You tugged at the hood of your hoodie, covering the blush seeping into your face.

"Really?" He sounded surprised. "I thought you didn't want to go."

"How can I not go if you're going?"

He paused. "O-okay then."

"Stop being an idiot and let's go," you said, turning back around and rolling your eyes.

He bounced over to you as you walked ahead, trying to match your pace.

"You still haven't given me an answer," he said.

"Hm?"

"The dinner."

You paled. "Oh. Yeah. Uh, when is it?"

Jean scratched the back of his neck. "My mom said whenever you can come."

"Oh. O-okay."

"Then…you'll go?"

"Sure. How's tomorrow sound like?"

"I'll tell her," he said with a smile.

The two of you walked into your street and parted your ways, heading for your houses. You entered your home and dumped your pack onto the couch. You didn't find Hanji in the kitchen, so you checked the backyard.

It was hard to see anything through the stacks of logs and plants, so you had to push a few of those out of your way as you weaved through, eyes searching for Hanji. You found her hunched over a pile of wood beside the side of the house, muttering to herself.

"No, no," she said, casting aside a log from the pile she was searching through.

"Uh, Hanji?" you said.

She whipped around, startled. "Oh, it's just you!" She tipped her sun hat in a greeting as you kneeled beside her in the cool grass.

"How was school?" she asked.

"Good."

"How's Jean?"

"Good."

She eyed you, annoyed at your lame responses.

"Um, is it okay if I go over the Kirschtein's tomorrow for dinner?"

"Yeah, sure, just as long as they know you're going."

You frowned. She always seemed to be letting you go off to places if it had something to do with Jean, which almost always did.

She examined another log and chucked it over her shoulder, grumbling.

"Uh, what're doing?" you asked her.

"Looking for the right kind of wood," she answered, picking up another log and bringing it close to her face. She tapped it and scratched the rough surface, and for a moment you thought she was going to taste it.

"For what?"

"Your carving," she said creepily, turning her head slowly. There was a crooked grin on her face and her eyes were wide and chaotic. You shuffled away, making a terrified face. She howled with laughter and you laughed nervously along.

After that Bean had sauntered over and leaned on you, his massive and heavy body pushing you over, interrupting the conversation. You ruffled the mass of fur covering his neck as Hanji continued to look for the 'perfect log elsewhere.

"Hey there, Bean!" you cooed, cupping his snout and planting a kiss on his wet nose. He licked your nose in return.

Bean yawned and lay in your lap. You scratched his neck as he laid there, not really doing anything. He seemed to be doing that more often, and he wasn't chasing after his ginger companion so much. Actually, Sawney seemed to be keeping his distance from Bean. You patted his side as he licked your knee.

You wondered if Jean had any pets. He probably didn't; he never said anything about having any.

How would dinner at Jean's house be like? You worried they would get the wrong idea, or possibly pressure you and Jean to…why were you even worried about this? What's with all the relationship stuff?

_Just ignore it, _,_ you thought to yourself.

You glanced down at Bean in your lap and nudged him. He made a whining noise and stood.

"Thanks pal," you said, standing.

He padded closely behind you as you weaved through the jungle of logs and back into the house. The house seemed to be a lot hotter than it was outside. Hanji was in the kitchen, laying out her knives. She found the 'perfect log', which was sitting on the dining table in front of the knife collection. You eyed the sharp objects.

Hanji smiled down at the log. "I'm thinking of a little sculpture of you and Jean."

"Why put Jean in it?" you asked, opening the freezer. You frowned when you found the Popsicle box was empty.

"Well, you're always around him. And I don't think I'm the one changing you, _."

You shut the freezer and looked at her for her to go on.

"He's done more to you than I could ever do," she said, smiling and picking up a sharp small knife. She sliced off a small part of the bark on the log. "It's true I know how loss feels, but I've never known my baby. Ever. Jean? He's known his friend for all of his_ life_. Like I said, two peas in a pod."

"But…you've done lots of things for me, too," you said. She cut off another chunk of the thick bark, the yellowish brown of the inside of the log becoming visible.

"Yes, that's true. We've talked, and I can see you getting better as we do. But it's not about Jean helping you more than me. It's about you helping Jean." She glanced at you before going on. "I've always thought that in order to help yourself, you need to help someone else. Do you understand?"

You nodded. You've been helping yourself help Jean…and he was helping himself help you. Was this what it meant to mend?

"Good."

You watched her cut into the wood for a little bit more before turning around and brushing last Bean and heading for the stairs. Sawney stood at the top of the first flight, watching you curiously as you walked by. You reached down and scratched his head, eliciting a purr from the ginger feline. He reminded you of Mr. Francis.

Which reminded you of the book.

You went into your room and slid into the seat by the drawing desk, taking the small chapter book that you had dropped on a few days ago. You haven't even read it yet, but you knew what Mr. Francis was talking about you connecting with the Hollis.

The book was about a girl who was abandoned, and her only homes were the foster homes she lived in temporarily. Her new caretaker ends up losing her memory, and Hollis intends to stay with her no matter what.

You stared at the book. Was this some joke? Did Mr. Francis seriously think you were going to read this? Was this his way of taking _pity_ on you?

You cast the book back onto the desk and turned away, facing the door of your room. You sighed and rubbed your face, standing and grabbing your phone and earbuds. You let yourself fall onto the bed and you turned on your music. Arm over your eyes, you listened to the music play.

And it rained.

The tears fell down your cheeks, curving from your lips pulled back into a grimace, trying to keep in the sobs.

Wiping your face, you stood and reached for the book, fighting back more tears. You sat down at the edge of your bed and opened it to the first page.

_Chapter one…  
><em>—

Friday came quickly. You had hurried home with Jean to get ready. Now showered and dressed in some decent clothes, you stared at yourself in the mirror in your room.

_No._

You didn't like it. You had to change the shirt.

After you changed into a different colored blouse, you examined your reflection again. And changed again. Who cared about the grey jeans you were wearing, or the nice blue blouse with the yellow lining and white stripes? Oh wait, you did, because you were so worried you didn't look glamorous.

Why were you so worked up about some stupid dinner?! It was only _dinner_! Nothing else!

And why were you so worried about _clothes?_ When did this happen? You wondered if it was part of puberty or just the fact that you were turning normal again.

But what if his family didn't like you? What if they thought you were weird? What if _they_ were weird?

You rubbed your face and groaned into your hand, troubled. You put your hands up in a '_oh fuck it'_ expression and let them fall to your sides. Stomach growling, you descended down the stairs and into the living room. Before you could even react, there was a flash of white and you blinked, confused.

Your vision cleared for a moment and you found Hanji standing in front of you, beaming and holding one of those old cameras that printed out the picture right away. The paper slid out from the slot and she caught it before it could fall.

"This one's a keeper!" she said, showing it to you.

Your eyes were caught mid-blink, your mouth opened slightly in surprise. You held back your laughter and remarked, "I look stupid."

"And that's why it's a keeper!" she responded, cackling to herself.

"That's mean."

She took another picture and you rubbed your eyes.

"Can you stop that? I'll be blind before I could get there in time."

"Okay, okay," she said, but snapped another picture. She laughed at your expression, which was totally done with her crazy antics.

You cracked a smile and laughed along.

"Go have fun, _, " she said. "And if you're ever in a pickle, just think: 'What would Elvis do?'"

You stared at her. "Hanji, I don't even know how he thinks."

"And don't forget his quotes!"

"What quote-"

She whirled around, hair flying and flashed you a cheeky smile, gun pointing at you. "'Thank ya, thank ya vury much!'"

"I don't think I'll need that unless it has something to do with manners-"

Then she burst into song. "Burning, burning, burning! And nothing can cool me! I might just turn into smoke-but I feel fine!"

It was an Elvis love song, you realized. "Hanji, can I just go now?"

"AHHH! A hunk, a hunk of burning love! AHHH! A hunk, a hunk of burning love! AHHH! Just a hunk, a hunk of burning love!"

"Hanji, bye, I'm leaving, goodbye," you laughed, waving to her as she continued singing the Elvis song, '_Burning Love.'_

Once out of the house and on the porch, you pressed a hand to your cheeks. There was no burning love, but your cheek was definitely burning from the immense blush on your face. Whatever it meant.

Taking a deep breath, you walked down the stone path, sneakers making clacking noises on it. The sunshine burned your skin lightly, its touch filling you with warmth. It was days like these that you longed for the most when you were with your family, your little sister's head no longer caked with blood or your mother's neck snapped, or your father sauntering around the house with a bottle in his hand, reeking of alcohol.

You pushed the thoughts away and stopped at the edge of the curb, staring at the brick house across the street. A bike lay on the front lawn, cast aside lazily.

You wrung your hands nervously and crossed the street after looking both ways (once, twice, _thrice)_ and stepping onto the sidewalk. You glanced over your shoulder before walking up the cobblestone path and up to the front porch.

Your fist hovered above the orange tainted door until you brought it down in a knock. You slapped yourself mentally at how quiet it came out and raised your fist again to knock on the wood louder this time when the door swung open.

"Hello? Oh!" said the woman who opened the door, voice thick with a French accent. She was what you would consider plump, but not fat. Her brown hair was pulled back into ponytail, a few short defiant strands falling onto her forehead. She wore a long sundress, one that reminded you of what Hanji always wore with her straw sun hat. Her eyes were warm, the kind that brought love no matter the time.

"Uh, hi," you greeted quietly. "I'm, uh, Jean's friend. The one you invited over for dinner?"

"Of course! Come in, come in!" she insisted. You stepped inside and she closed the door behind you. The living room you had stepped into seemed very typical with the floral couches, coffee table, and rug. Only there was a humongous flat screened television in the room, much bigger than Hanji's. Pictured lined the walls, and you caught a glimpse of what seemed to be baby Jean with his mother and father. There were two hallways, one that you assumed lead into the kitchen because of the sweet aroma of food, and one that lead into the bed rooms and such. The stairs were beside the hallway entrance of the kitchen.

"My, you're pretty," Mrs, Kirschtein said with a smile.

You blinked. "T-thank you."

"How long have you been with Jean?"

"Oh, um, we're not-"

_"SSSTRRRAAAAANNNNGGEERR!"_ screeched a high pitched voice.

You jumped, startled, as a child ran into the room. It was a small boy, probably no younger than eight. He skidded to a halt beside his mother, tugging at his purple waistcoat. He looked like a miniature version of Jean, except he had much darker hair and a rounded face.

"Who're you?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Jacob, this is _, Jean's girlfriend," his mother answered.

You cringed. "No, no, no. We're not-"

"_JEAAAN! YOUR GIRLFRIEND IS HERE!"_ yelled Jacob in the direction of the stairs.

For such a small boy, he had a huge voice.

His mother pinched his ear and scolded, "No yelling!"

You heard loud laughter from upstairs, and it wasn't Jean's. It was much deeper and booming. You heard a door open and you looked up the stairs. A teen with shaggy copper hair poked his head out of his room and called back, "What girlfriend?! _Jean's forever alone!"_

His whole family was loud, you realized. You tugged at your collar nervously as you heard Jean shout back, "Shut up!"

Mrs. Kirschtein looked at you apologetically. "They're always like this."

Just when you thought the Kirschtein family couldn't get any bigger, a girl skipped into the room, her blue dress and copper curls bouncing.

"Bonjour!" she greeted. "Je m'appelle Celine. Et toi?"

You blinked. "Huh?"

Mrs. Kirschtein laughed. "Celine, she doesn't speak French."

Celine pouted. "Why not?"

"I just don't?" you replied, though it sounded more of a question than a statement. God, Jean's family was huge.

Celine giggled a little. "You're pretty."

"Thanks," you said, blushing_. God dammit_. Why was this so frustrating?

The boy from before with the shaggy hair ran down the stairs and jumped the last three. Jacob squealed in delight as his tall big brother stood beside him, grinning down at you. He nodded and curtly said, "'Sup."

"Hi," you said.

He held out his hand and introduced himself. "I'm Pierre."

You shook his hand sheepishly. "_."

You gazed around the room at Jean's family members. There was Celine, Jacob, Pierre, and Mrs. Kirschstein. You knew Jean was here. But where was Mr. Kirschstein?

Jean descended down the stairs and you almost gaped at him. His copper brown hair that usually just fell onto his forehead in a clustered mop was combed back, a few strands falling into his eyes. Like all of his male siblings, he wore a waistcoat, only his was grey and white. He scowled, shoving his hands into his pockets and refusing to look at you.

"So how long have you and Jeanny been together?" asked Mrs. Kirschtien.

"Mama!" screeched Jean, horrified. You didn't know if he was angry at the question or the way she said his name.

"We're not together!" you assured them. Oh gods, Jean was right; they did get the wrong message.

"Oh come on, Jean," Peirre urged. "Confess already."

Mrs. K laughed and took your hand in hers. "I finally get to meet the girl who made my son talk! Merci, merci! He never stops talking about you, did you know that?"

"Mama!" Jean hissed, face red. "Stop!"

He talks about you nonstop? "What did he say?" you asked Mrs. K, ignoring Jean's protests.

"Don't-" Jean started as his mother answered you, "I asked him once if you were pretty and he said yes!"

Celine hooted with laughter. Jean groaned and covered his burning face with his hand, still yelling at his mother in French, who replied in the same language. Pierre hid his snorts with his hand.

Mrs. K sighed, cutting Jean off. She turned to her only daughter. "Celine, why don't you show _ around the house?"

Celine nodded and Jacob squealed beside her, "Can I go, too!?"

"Oui," his mother answered and the two children took one of your hands, dragging you away. They spoke loudly and fast, showing you the rooms as you passed by the open doors in the hallway.

"So how old are you two?" you asked.

"I'm twelve," Celine answered.

"Seven!" Jacob said.

"How old are _you_?" asked Celine.

"15," you answered.

"How did you meet Jean?" she asked.

"Uh, long story-"

"We can hear it!" Jacob said, cutting you off.

"Um, okay, sure. Well, I had just moved here and Hanji-"

"The crazy lady across the street?" asked Jacob.

You smiled. "Yes, _her_. She's my foster parent. She suggested that I explore around the neighborhood, so I went into the woods and I found Jean in there." You decided to leave out the details; they were yours and Jean's memories.

"Has he always been talking to you?" the little boy asked.

"Yes," you answered.

His sister pouted. "He hadn't spoken to us since…you know."

You nodded. "Did you ever meet Marco?"

The two nodded. "He was so sweet," Celine said. "Jean really misses him."

"But now he has you!" Jacob added rather loudly.

You laughed lightly. "Yeah, I guess he does."

"Oi," a voice said behind the three of you as you stepped into the dining room (which, like all of the other rooms in the house, were quite beautiful).

You turned around to find Jean standing by the doorway, leaning against the frame. His eyes were focused on his siblings beside you.

"Ma says she needs your help," he said, and you could tell it was an obvious lie. Jacob ran away and Celine followed, quickly waggling her eyebrows at the two of you as she brushed past Jean.

An awkward silence has settled in, heavy.

"Jeanny?" you said, breaking the silence.

Jean scowled, still not looking at you. "It's a name…"

"Pretty cute name," you said. Your eyes widened a fraction at your words as they escaped from your mouth.

His hand instinctively reached for the watch on the opposite wrist and he found that it wasn't on.

You sweat nervously and he cleared his thought, choosing not to further question your comment.

"So, uh, do y-you like the house?"

"Yeah. You guys seem to have a lot of money."

"My dad does real estate," he answered.

"Cool," you said. _'The Return of the Awkward Silence!'_

"Jeanny, you're father's home!" called his mother.

Jean groaned at the sound of his nickname and you chuckled. He led you back to the living room where a tall and broad shouldered man stood, laying his coat on one of the couch's arms. His dark suit gleamed in the light as the man turned to look at you, a warm smile curling his lips. Jean resembled him the most, for he had his father's copper brown hair and the same long face. Mr. Kirschtein's eyes were sunset yellow instead of his sons' honey gold. A sharp prominent nose and square jaw suggested he was a handsome man. You finally realized where his family had gotten his looks, even if the mother was very beautiful.

"Hello!" Mr.K bellowed, eyes lighting up at the sight of you. "You must be _!"

You laughed nervously. "Yeah, that's me…"

Mr. Kirschtein turned to his son and whispered, hiding his mouth with his hand so you wouldn't hear,(but he was whispering loud enough that you could)"She's a pretty one, Jean!"

Jean scowled. "We've established that."

His father laughed, something that resembled the deep rumble of thunder. You scratched the back of your neck, embarrassed. Jean's family was so unlike him. You thought you would see scowls everywhere, but you guessed that they only did so when they were angry.

It didn't seem like that happened much, though.

Jean tugged at your sleeve, "Come on, _, let's go upstairs…"

You could tell he really wanted to get away, but the moment here was too precious to leave. Seeing Jean so flustered like this made you want to burst out laughing; he really didn't know how great his family was despite their implications between you and him.

"What? But your dad is so nice!" you said, digging your sneakers onto the wood floor so he couldn't drag you away.

"And I want to get to know my son's friend!" His father beamed at you. "And to think you would be the one to get him talking again and not his very own family! You must be special."

"It was, uh, nothing," you replied as Jean rolled his eyes and tugged at your sleeve a little more.

"_," he urged.

"Oh, fine," you sighed, giving in. Jean grinned triumphantly.

You glanced at Mr. K as you followed Jean up the stairs, finding the tall man watching you with keen eyes and a small smile upon his lips. Jean's room was probably as big as yours.

His room was what you would expect from a boy; it was messy, the sheets on the bed lazily made. His nightstand was covered in papers, some daring to fall to the floor and clutter the room even further. But everything away from his bed was clean. The television was nicely organized, the movies and games beside it in order. Your eye caught onto something black below the small flat screen.

"Is that a wii?" you asked him, nearing the game console.

"Yup," he said. He leaned down and reached behind the flat screen t.v and pulled out two controllers, one blue and one pink, and waggled his eyebrows at you.

"Wanna play Mario Kart?" he asked.

"Fuck yeah!" You grinned at him and took the blue controller.

"Hey! That's mine," he whined. "Blue is a manly color."

"No, pink is. Stop being sexist." You grinned and sat down in front of the television as Jean turned it on.

Soon enough Jean was sitting beside your crossed legs, the disc already inserted into the wii console. While you waited for the disc to load, Jean turned to you, a smug grin plastered onto his face and said, "You ready to lose to the all time champion of Mario Kart?"

"Who? Is there anyone else playing?" You looked around the room, emphasizing your sarcasm.

"Me!"

"Oh." You grinned at him. "Actually, I'm quite ready to win, Kirschtein."

"No one's beaten me before," he boasted, turning back to the television screen as the menu popped up. You rolled your eyes and looked at the different characters you could choose from. Jean had already chosen his by the sound of him clicking on Waluigi. You wrinkled your nose; Waluigi was such a weird character: you decided to settle on Browser, eyeing the very few female characters. You could only see two, which were Princess Peach and Yoshi.

Once the two of you were ready, the race began.

Jean had already taken fifth place, yourself still in eleven. Cursing, you sped ahead, making sure to pass through one of the mystery boxes. You felt like this wasn't a game anymore.

No, it was _life or death._

"Haha! First place!"

"Shut up," you growled, bumping your elbow into his.

"Hey!" he said.

"Oopsies." You flashed him a quick smile before proceeding to use your thunder, electrifying everyone on the race.

"Oh, what!?" Jean screeched beside you as you quickly advanced towards him.

"All time champion my ass," you laughed, passing him.

Finally the two of you were at the last lap, and Jean had returned to first place. Tongue sticking out of the corner of your mouth, you leaned forward in your seat, glaring at the bright screen as you neared a certain Waluigi.

"Oh! The finish line!" Jean said, grinning.

You passed through a mystery box and rounded the corner, seeing the finish line up ahead and Jean advancing toward it. You glanced back and forth between the box at the top of your screen as it randomly selected an item and back to Jean, seeing how close he was. Without looking what it was, you used your item, which turned out to be a rocket, and passed Jean, finishing in first.

"Waah!" Waluigi cried when Broswer rammed into him.

You threw your hands up, dropping the wii remote. "Oooo!"

"What!? No fair!" Jean yelled.

"Jeanny, dinner!" called his mother from downstairs.

"Oh shit," you breathed, scrambling to your feet and towards the bedroom door.

"Hey, I'm not done with you yet!" Jean growled, stumbling after you. You dodged his stuff animal-which you were surprised he had; it was a cute little dolphin-and hurried down the stairs, Jean at your heels. He led you through the hallways to the dining room, where his family was laying down plates and such onto the table.

Jean's family was still unbelievably large. You sat at an empty seat between Jean and Celine. Jacob was seated in front of you, kicking his feet and holding his utensils in his little hands, chanting, "Food! Food! Food!"

"Mom makes the best crepe in the whole family," Celine said, smiling at you.

"Crepe?"

"You've never tried it? It's really good!"

Mr. Kirschtein sat down at his chair with a heavy sigh, fixing the collar of his suit. Mrs. Kirschtein sat at the opposite end of the table. You gazed at the family, realizing just how typical they were, but yet weren't. They sat in the same arrangement that you would have guessed. But when you looked at the family's faces, you found warmth (except for Jean's because he was scowling) in them. They were a family, and they had already accepted you.

A family.

After everyone had added piles of food onto their plates, they dug in. The only foods you recognized were the bread, baked potatoes, and the chicken and vegetables. Everything else was too French for you to know. You expected dinner to last only a short amount of time despite the large quantity of food like dinner with Hanji, but this dragged on much longer. You found yourself trying to match their slow pace of eating as they spoke quietly to one another. Celine and Jacob were firing question after question at you before you could even answer even one. You struggled to answer, but Jean intervened and cut off the children's questions. But now that they had been out aside, the eldest family members took their turn of questioning.

"_, you live right across the street, yes?" asked Mrs. K.

You nodded, biting onto your forkful of baked potatoes goodness, the butter melting in your mouth.

"So, you live with Hanji?" she asked.

You nodded again. "She's my foster parent."

"Forgive me for asking," Mr. K began, "but…why are you going to these foster homes?"

You blinked and the table became quiet, waiting for your reaction or answer. You only chewed a piece of your bread, swallowed, then answered, "There was a car accident and my sister and mother… My dad and I are the only ones alive. He's…unfit to parent now." It was a bit too vague, but who cared? You didn't want many people to know the exact details; that was for Hanji and Jean.

Everyone except for Jean paled and threw, "I'm sorry for your loss"'s at you.

Jacob squirmed in his seat. "How old was you sister."

"Jacob!" Mrs. K hissed under her breath.

"Three," you answered nonetheless.

"Oh," he said, looking away.

"So," Pierre began. "How did you and Jean meet?"

All eyes turned to you and Jean. You sweat dropped, fidgeting in your seat from all of the attention.

"Uhh…," you said, not knowing what to say. What should you say? _'Oh, I met your son in the woods, where I found him asleep and I stared at him. He also spoke to me that day. Did I mention I stared at him?'_

You glanced at Jean for help and he answered for you, "We, um, ran into each other one day in…school."

Pierre huffed, suspecting that his younger brother was lying. He assumed correctly, though.

"Do you like Jean?" Jacob questioned bluntly, biting into a crepe.

You blushed and Jean sputtered.

"I-uh. N-no? In, um, what way?"

"Like_, like-like."_

"We're not in a relationship," Jean said, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Right, _?"

You swallowed. "Yeah."

The whole family seemed to slump forward in disappointment.

Mrs. K smiled at you. "The girl who made my son talk! You know, the first thing he said to us was, 'Stop hogging the bathroom, woman!' I've never been so happy to hear his voice. My Jeanny!"

"Yes, Jean, you have no idea how much we've missed your voice!" Mr. K added.

_I wonder how much Jean misses Marco_, you thought to yourself.

"Are you going to celebration, together?" Celine asked you.

"Yeah, so don't try to come with us this year," Jean answered for you again, pointing his fork at his sister.

"Aw, what?" Celine cried.

"Celebration? Together? Alone? _Together?_" Pierre gasped. You chuckled, catching his gaze and stabbing your fork through your carrot piece threateningly. He leaned away from you in his seat.

That ought to do it.

Jean snorted and Jacob squealed happily.

"What about the dance?" Celine suggested. "Are you going to that?"

Jean didn't answer, only chewed on his potatoes, glowering at her. It was your turn to snort.

Dinner lasted for two hours, which you learned later, was the typical length for a French family meal. Now stuffed, you sat on Jean's bed, him on the floor tuning his guitar. His waistcoat was cast aside and his button down shirt was now exposed. You stared at the top button, finding it was in the wrong hole. You wondered if he was just naturally clumsy like that or nervousness of the dinner made him fuck up that bad. You wanted to fix that button. Really bad. But that required unbuttoning his whole shirt just to fix the jumble of misplaced buttons, so you decided to stay put and watch Jean turn the pegs of the guitar as he plucked each string, hearing the pitch change from low to high as he tried to get it to the right sound.

"How long have you been playing guitar?" you asked him.

"'Bout a year," he estimated, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he worked on the second to last string.

"Is it hard?"

Only now did his eyes shift up to meet yours, glancing over your form on his bed. His cheeks reddened slightly and he answered, "Why don't you find out yourself?"

You guessed that meant you were going to learn to play.

Still, you made no move to get up, coming to the conclusion that Jean's bed was just too comfortable.

"When's celebration, Jean?"

"Next Friday."

Already? Well, it was the end of May. School was ending that very same day.

"Hey, Jean."

"Yeah…," he said absentmindedly, frowning at the last string.

"I like your family."

"They're alright."

"They're awesome."

He said nothing, only continued tuning.

"Do you only think that because you have no family?" He glanced up at your face, searching for a reaction. You were surprised that he would say something like that.

"I do have a family, Jean. My dad and Hanji. And…you."

"Me?"

"Yeah. You're my family."

He stared at you, thoughts and ideas swirling around his head. He looked away, tuning the last string. You smiled at his form, content that he knew those words.

"My…family can be annoying," he said. "Embarrassing, spontaneous, and a bit on the loud side. But they're my family, so I think that's right. And they've already accepted you. So I guess that means you're a part of the Kirschtein family, too."

He glanced up at you and smiled a little.

"Jeeeaaaan," squealed a small voice, startling the two of you. "Can you two makeout already and stop talking…?"

"Celine!" screeched Jean, scrambling to the door. He whipped it open and sitting on the floor in front of it was Celine and Jacob.

"Hi, _," they said, waving. You waved back.

"Out," Jean ordered them.

"But we're not in your room," argued Jacob.

"Then go away. Spying is bad."

Celine pouted and Jacob gasped.

"It _is?!"_

"Yes!" Jean answered, exasperated. "Now go!"

Without an answer, he closed the door. You laughed lightly. Yup, this was how a family should work. Definitely.

You found yourself leaving later than you thought you would have. Talking with Jean always made you lose track of time. And you managed to get his phone number, just in case you needed to talk. Jean agreed, so he gave you his number. You weren't sure how to feel, since this was the first time you had gotten a guy's number, but he was your best friend. You breathed in the cool evening air and walked down Jean's porch. As you crossed the street, you found your mind wandering to the Celebration.

And thank goodness it was only a week away.

But it would soon become the most feared day of Jean's life.

If only you knew.

—

Sunday morning you felt like crap. It wasn't that you felt sick, it was just that you couldn't really get up. You couldn't explain, but it was almost like the emotions you bottled up inside grew and created a wall, stopping you from doing anything. Whatever it was, it made you feel horrible; sadness. Under your covers you stared at the wall through an opening in your blanket. Your eyes traced over the small crack in the wall down to a stain, though it was barely noticeable.

You glanced up at your phone and reached for it, barely managing to grab it. You pulled your arm back under your blanket fort and turned the phone on. You blinked repeatedly at the bright light that it emit and typed in your pass code. Slowly, you texted Jean.

**From: _  
>To: Jean<br>I'm having one of those days.**

You locked the screen and closed your eyes, too tired and feeling too much to keep the phone on. A minute later your phone vibrated, signaling a reply.

**From: Jean  
>To: _<br>want me 2 come ovr?**

You sniffed and typed in an answer.

**From: _  
>To: Jean<br>Please**

He texted you back almost right away.

**From: Jean  
>To: _<br>hold on for a while. mom made me clean**

You texted back a small 'ok' and stuffed the phone under your pillow. You closed your eyes and waited, struggling to keep the constricting feeling in your chest under control. A wave of guilt and sadness hit you hard, and you forced back tears, biting your lip.

You wondered if Hanji would let him in when you remembered she had to leave for work. She had told you yesterday that there was a tour group coming over or something. You forced to calm yourself down, and twenty minutes later during your struggle for dominance over your tsnami of emotions, you heard the door to your room creak open.

At first the footsteps were quite loud until they quieted as they neared your form under the blankets. Through the little opening of your fort you could see golden eyes peering in, staring straight at you.

"_," Jean said, voice low. "You okay?"

You shook your head. He grimaced.

"Is there something I can do to help you feel better?"

Right now, you didn't know what you needed to help you feel better, but you remembered those times you cried in his arms as he held you, and he was so warm.

You pulled the blankets back and motioned for him to come into bed with you. He stared at you for a second too long and crawled into bed, cheeks slightly tainted pink. You turned around and wrapped the covers over your heads, creating a dome with the blankets. Once you were settled, Jean asked, "So what's up? You said you were having one of 'those days'. Are they what I think they are?"

You took in a shaky breath and nodded. You felt his arm snake around your waist, reluctantly pulling you closer to him.

"You can cry, if you want," he mumbled.

You needed to, but you didn't want to. You were always reduced to tears when you were around him. You wanted to be strong for once. You didn't want him to think you were weak or pathetic.

"I don't want to," you replied, whispering.

"When Marco…you know- I had these days _every_ day. For weeks. Until I stopped talking and gave up." He glanced away and then looked back to you. "I've never told anyone this, but the reason why I was in the woods that day was because I wanted to kill myself. I wanted to die and I felt like I needed to. But then you came along, and you were about to tread on what I had left of Marco, and that was our memories, and I didn't want you to cross."

"Jean…," you whispered, startled.

He looked away, staring at his hands. "And then you made me talk. I haven't used my voice in a while, I didn't even talk to myself or anything like that. Nothing. And it hurt when I spoke…but it felt great. And then we started talking, and we helped each other, and we made promises, and now I…" He trailed off and he flushed. You didn't know if it was from the lack of air and the heat or what he was about to say next. Whatever it was, he brushed aside his thoughts.

"But before Marco was gone, I had nightmares. I would call him or text him when they came, and he would come. He lived right down the street. And since my nightmares only came at night, he would have to sneak in and out of his house and into my bedroom. And I sleep on the second floor, but Marco climbed the tree next to my room. And we would lie in bed like this. Some days he would say something, some days he wouldn't. He didn't have to, because he was there and his presence was just…comforting."

You could feel yourself relax as Jean spoke, the constricting feeling in your chest dwindling.

He looked back up to you. "_, I just want you to know that I can be like Marco-er-be here for you."

"Thanks," you said, taking his hand in yours. It was warm, and he intertwined his fingers with yours. "Thanks."

Jean stared at your hands. "I'm just doing what you'd do."

You lifted an eyebrow. What _you'd_ do?

"Jean, I think things are getting better, don't you think?"

"Yeah…definitely."

—

School was going a lot better. You were being sure to pay attention, despite your mind buzzing from celebration. It was this Friday, and you found yourself longing for the end of the week to come. But you enjoyed your days with Jean, either at your house or in the library after school, his house, and even in the ice cream parlor where Petra worked at and where you bought the same margarita and Jean bought a chocolate chip cookie dough waffle cone with extra nuts. And the two of you would eat outside, sitting on the ledge above river, watching the sunset. You would talk for hours, and when the sun went down, you would go back into the parlor for another helping before it closed, and stayed as long as you dared sitting on the ledge, looking at the stars, before biking alongside Jean back home, where Hanji would usually scold you to come back earlier next time. But every time you went there with Jean, he seemed so frightened to go. He was constantly playing with his watch and wringing his hands, looking for something to grasp until they took your hand. You had asked him about why he was so nervous, and he didn't answer, only stared in the dark waters of the river below.

So you let it go.

But one night you had woken up to your phone ringing. You answered it without looking at the ID.

"Hello?" you said, eyes heavy lidded and still groggy from sleep.

"_, c-can you come over, please?" asked a small voice. It was Jean.

You had managed to rush over to his house, but you remember what Jean had told you about Marco, how he would climb the tree to his room so he wouldn't wake anyone or have Jean get out of bed.

So you climbed it.

It was a lot harder than you thought, but after going up a little, you thought you caught the hang of it. You slipped on a few branches but managed to hang on; it was a difficult process. You had lightly tapped on his bedroom window and he opened it for you. You spent most of the night with him, trying to calm him down. You succeeded in doing so and left him asleep, leaving to get back to your house early in the morning. But before you left, you made sure to see he was asleep, and you pressed your lips to his forehead. But while making your way down the tree, you slipped and fell into the bush below.

That was on Tuesday. And the next day it happened again. You guessed that now that you knew about his nightmares, he knew you could he his Marco. And vice versa.

But like Jean said, things were staring to get better. And as the end of the week neared, there were more and more signs of the celebration preparations nearly finished, and by Thursday, everything was set.

On Thursday night, you made your way to the library after school. You passed by Mr. Francis's increasing pile of books on his desk and sat at the back computer, the last one in the row, farthest from the others. You turned it on and typed in the password that was taped on the top right of the screen. You were curious, and since it didn't seem like Jean was providing enough information, you were going to find it yourself.

You searched up the town's police department. In the search box of the front page, you typed in 'Marco Bodt.' Jean had spelled out his name once to you because you had asked him to. He didn't seem to mind, but you didn't tell him it was going to be for this.

It took a long minute for the search results to show up since this was a pretty old computer (it wasn't like the flat screen apple computers, this was in the shape of a box and resembled an old television). But there were multiple results. You scrolled down the page, eyes scanning over the results. That was when you found it.

You clicked on the link and it took you to another page on the website. It was titled _'Missing Child'_. Below those words was Marco's name, then his picture. He was just like Jean had described him; freckles, dark eyes, warm smile, and a dark mess of hair on his head.

This was Jean's best friend for life. They made the pact when they were only little boys.

You scrolled down to where it showed a physical description of Marco.

_'If seen or found, please contact this number immediately._' Beside it was a number.

Your eyes shifted to where it said, _'Last Seen_.'

_'Marco Bodt was last seen with his best friend, Jean Kirschtein. Jean had left Marco at the ice cream parlor, Riverside Ice. Marco's parents were supposed to pick him up, and when they did, he wasn't there. They searched the area but didn't find him.'_

You stared at the screen. That was the parlor you and Hanji went to, where Petra worked at. Was that why Jean always acted so weird when you went there with him? You sighed, rubbing your forehead. You should have known. Why did you bring him there? You were only making things worse.

You opened another tab and searched in the date of the disappearance and found several articles. You opened one of them and read it. Again, it told the same story as the report, but gave a little bit of depth into Marco's life. He loved to garden and taught the local church kids about the many flowers and how they helped the Earth. He played in his school's band and orchestra as the snare drum and cello. His best friend for life was Jean Kirschtein, and nothing could change that. _Ever._

But it already did, because you had taken his place.

You suddenly felt guilty, guilty that you were here instead of him. How could you ever be like Marco? You weren't Jean's best friend for life. You made no pact. Now you were just viewing yourself as his misery buddy. You were only there to share Jean's sadness, regret, and misery. You could never wake up every day in the middle of the night, climb the goddamn tree, and comfort Jean. You were barely able to the last two times he had nightmares. Jean had said Marco calmed him down right away, and that Marco would do anything for his best friend because that's what they did, they helped each other, and you were supposed to be helping Jean, but all you did was cry in front of him.

You closed the tabs and logged out, lifting yourself from your seat. You left the library, ignoring Mr. Francis's goodbye's.

The next day, you and Jean agreed to meet each other outside when the time came on that Friday afternoon. Hanji and Jean's family were also going, but you knew that the first chance you for that you and Jean would ditch them.

Skipping along the sidewalk behind you, Celine hummed. Jacob trotted beside her, giggling. Jean sighed beside you, running a hand through his hair. You felt a presence beside you and turned to find Pierre walking beside you. He smirked and walked closer to you. Unfortunately, there wasn't enough room on the sidewalk for three, and so you were constantly pushed into Jean by his older brother. Jean glared at the shaggy haired nineteen year old in return. Pierre only leaned into you, causing you to lean into Jean, causing him to stumbled and push back harder. You yelped and fell against Pierre, and he rightened you, patting your shoulder.

"Jean, you're hurting your girlfriend," he said.

Jean growled. "Shut up! You started it. And she's not my girlfriend!"

You opened your mouth to add something when Pierre cut you off. "Oh yeah? Then why do you spend so much time together?"

"Jesus, you're a jackass. Can't I spend time with a friend?"

Again, you tried to say something but was cut off.

"Are you at least planning your move?"

You cut Jean off as he opened his mouth to retort something. "_Shut up,"_ you said calmly, staring straight ahead.

That shut the two of them up. Jacob giggled behind you.

Hanji and the two parent Kirscteins were speaking behind the group of you, walking a lot more slower. You glanced at Hanji and she tipped her sun hat to you. You exhaled and turned your gaze back around.

Pierre was leaning into you again and you barked, "Bubble!"

He rightened, raising an eyebrow. Jean held the same confused look on his face. "What?"

"Bubble. As in, personal space?"

The two of the them looked away, saying, "Oh…!" in the same understanding tone in unison. You only sighed again.

Finally the lot of you reached the town plaza, where Celebration was being held. Music blared from different food stands and games. People rushed here and there, and you recognized many of them as students who attended your high school. Others were adults and the elderly, enjoying the bustle of young life among them. Colorful lights shone here and there, twinkling in the sunlight. The bright orange orb in the sky was making its way down for the day, but the large amount of people still remained. You smelled the different foods, tasting the funnel cake and gyros on your tongue. You gazed around, finding this loud and slightly pandemoniac event quite calming, even so then just being at home with Hanji.

Jean grinned at you. "Cool, huh?"

You nodded, still taking in the view. The people seemed to be everywhere. Your eyes landed on the hill beside the old movie theater, where it reached higher into the trees into some unknown place.

"At midnight, there's fireworks!" Celine added, eyes shining brightly.

Hanji stood beside you and she shoved three twenty dollar bills into your hand. "Have fun, be safe, and text or call me if you need me, mkay?"

"You seem to be in a rush," you remarked.

She grinned. "I've got a date with Moblit! So I'll see you real soon!"

You smiled. You were happy that Hanji was dating. She probably hasn't been in a relationship since she miscarried. You watched her scurry off and turned to Jean, who was being coddled by his mother.

"Jeanny, stay safe!" she said, taking his face in her hands and kissing his forehead. He growled.

"Yeah, yeah, just go," he said.

Pierre saluted you with two fingers and ran off with his buddies, who slapped his back. One of them said something funny and the four of them laughed, running off. Celine and Jacob followed their mother and father, leaving you and Jean alone. You stood awkwardly beside him, holding the sixty dollars in your hand. You stuffed them into the pockets of your shorts and tugged at your hoodie.

"What do you want to do first?" you asked him.

He didn't answer. Instead, he squinted and gazed around the streets. Suddenly his hand took yours and he led you through the mass of people. You stared at his hand on yours, his warm grip unwavering, and you blushed, tugging at your hoodie to hide the pink in your cheeks.

"Jean, ya big idiot, where are we going?" you asked him over the loud music that played.

He still didn't answer. He tugged at your hand and stopped in front of a park. You looked around and found many activities going on with the children. They ran and laughed, slipping on the dirt and quickly regaining their original posture and skinning elbows and making dirt fly behind their sneakered heels.

You glanced at your hand in his and caught your gaze. He blushed and scowled, letting go rather forcibly. Your hand immediately became cold, Jean's warmth no longer adding onto yours. You followed Jean through the park, gazing around at the trees and benches in the green grass. You bumped into Jean's broad back, finding he had stopped. You glanced over his arm (he was too tall to look over his shoulder) and found what he was looking at. Up ahead in the large outside basketball court were the teenagers, dancing to the music that played. A few were spread out in groups along the grass, conversing with each other. You spotted a few familiar faces and broke into a run.

Everyone from your homeroom was sitting beneath a huge oak tree, laughing and drinking from their red plastic cups and eating off of paper plates.

"Hey guys!" you greeted, skidding to a halt in front of them.

"Hey, _!" Armin said. The other joined in.

Eren smirked at Jean's scowling face. "What's gotten under your panties?" he asked.

"Shut up, Jaeger."

Eren narrowed his eyes. "Make me."

The two held each other's gazes, making the rest of the group quiet down. Suddenly the two broke into grins and laughed. You smiled in relief.

Connie banged against his boom box in tune with the drums. He was playing some old pop songs. Ymir scowled beside the short teen, annoyed at his music choice.

You say in the grass beside Mikasa. Jean plopped down next to you, legs crossed.

"Connie, could you play any better music?" Reiner asked, drumming his fingers on his knee.

"Fuck you, you fucking fuck," Connie replied, pressing the forward button. To your surprise, it was a song you knew. But the boy had already skipped the song to find a new one.

"Wait, Connie, change it back."

He did, and the music began. You grinned goofily and sang loudly with the singer_. "Warden threw a party in the county jail!"_

Elvis _fucking_ Presley.

Jean snorted beside you. Connie joined in your singing, and soon the whole group was singing.

_"Everybody in the whole cell block was dancing to the jailhouse rock!"_

Sasha stood and twirled, her pink dressing fluttering. Connie took her hand and they danced along. They almost looked like they were in the 1900's. Krista turned up the volume. Ymir spun the small blonde around, causing the girl to squeal in delight. Everyone was dancing, and you stood. You felt a hand take your own and you turned to find Jean's warm gaze boring into your own. He smiled.

_"Let's rock! Everybody lets rock!"_

Jean laid his hand on your waist, his other intertwined in yours. You swallowed, eyes wide as the music played. You shifted from foot to foot in beat nervously. He cringed when you stepped on his foot and you snorted.

_"The warden said, 'Hey buddy don't you be no square; if you can't find a partner use a wooden chair!'"_

Jean twirled you in the air, and you closed your eyes for a brief moment, feeling the wind tousle your hair. You opened your eyes and found Jean staring at you, eyes wide. You raised your eyebrow in question and he only swallowed loudly. He quickly collected his bearings and smiled down at you. The song ended and you smiled at Jean, and he reluctantly real eases you from his grip. Breathing heavily, you found the next song to be just as upbeat. The drum beat and piano played loudly.

_"The footprints over the snow_," sang the singer. _"The fabrics of all the lonely, c-covering only the tables and hands!"_

Kick Drum Heart.

Again, everyone resumed their dancing without hesitance. You took Jean's hand and he pulled you close, grinning down at you. The music was turned up louder, and it caused other people to turn and see what was going on. And that's how more people joined your group.

Jean spun you around again. The two of you laughed, and you stared into his bright golden eyes.

_"M-m-my heart like a kick drum!"_

**Thump-thump**

_"M-my heart like a kick drum!"_

**Thump-thump**

_"M-my heart like a kick drum!"_

**Thump-thump**

_"M-my heart like a voice!"_

You laughed as Jean twirled you again, and this time he joined in. Your feet shifted back and forth with his movements. God, who knew dancing was so fun? Who knew Jean fucking Kirschtein could dance?

_"We're holding hands in the rain, s-saying words like I love you! D-d-do you love me?"_

His smile caused something warm to spread within your chest and you faltered. You suddenly became aware of how close he was to you. If you would lean in just a little…

The song got to the chorus and the whole song slowed down, as well as your movements. Jean stared at you, and you stared back, transfixed by each other's gazes.

_"Mother Mary…heard us approaching her door…although we didn't make a sound…"_

_Cheesy, so cheesy_, you thought as the song sped up again.

He leaned in, and so did you.

_"There's nothing like finding gold, within the rocks hard and cold. I'm so surprised to find more, always surprised to find more! I won't look back anymore, I left the people that do. It's the not the chase that I love."_

You leaned closer and could feel Jean's breath on your lips. You glanced down to his lips.

_"It's me following __**you**__!"_

Suddenly you snapped out of it and you pulled back, shutting your parted lips with a snap. Jean seemed just as disoriented as yourself, and he took a step back. The two of you stood there awkwardly, faces a deep crimson red. Did you just try to kiss him? Did he just try to kiss _you!_? You were about to _kiss!_

_Hooolleeeeeessshhhiiiiittt,_ you thought.

"Uh," you stammered. "I-you-so-haaaww…"

"I-I-um," Jean stuttered as the song ended. "Fuck. Um."

"Gah. Um, l-let's forget this happened?"

"Y-yeah." He cleared his throat.

You stiffly sat down beside a panting Mikasa as the music continued to play. Jean leaned against the tree behind the boom box, staring into space, eyebrows furrowed. He fiddled with his watch straps.

What almost happened was still on your mind. What…why would you lean in? Why did he lean in? You just tried to fucking _kiss _your best friend!

After another song ended, some of your friends sat down, panting and sweating. The heat only increased as the sun shone brighter, giving off its last amounts of light before letting the moon take the night shift. Your stomach growled and you glanced up at Jean. He caught your gaze and had seemed to calm down considerably, so he managed to ask, "You hungry?"

"I need something to maul on," you remarked.

Mikasa glanced at you sideways and said, "There's a snack stand nearby."

"Thanks," you said, standing. You and Jean walked off, waving to your friends.

Awkward silence settled in. You shoved your hands into your hoodie pockets and Jean grasped at his watch. You stared at the grey pavement as the two of you walked out of the park. The food stands were lined up in rows with lines of people waiting to order. The sweet aroma of food lay heavy in the air, and you could taste the pretzels and funnel cake on your tongue. Crickets were beginning to chirp as you and Jean reached a food stand with the shortest line.

You glanced at Jean beside you and your heart fluttered into your throat. You were just now becoming aware of how his facial features were being illuminated by the bright sunset light and how handsome it made him. You tugged at your hoodie self consciously and stepped forward to order.

The two of you sat on a rock by the edge of the park, munching on snow cones. Neither of you spoke a word, instead were lost in thought, minds racing.

You took a deep breath and after chewing on more flavored ice, you asked, "Hey Jean?"

He visibly flinched when you said his name. He turned to you. "W-what?"

"Do you want to play some games after this?" you asked shyly.

"The arcade is nearby," he suggested, a grin plastered on his face. The old Jean was back, more or less.

You grinned back. "I beat you in Mario Kart, and I'll beat you again in whatever game you play."

"Your chances of doing so are bleak," he said. "I'm much better at the arcade than at Mario Kart."

"You're so stupid."

"You're an idiot."

You glowered at him. "Butt face."

He smirked. "Poop wagon."

You flicked his forehead and he flinched, blinking.

"Ow."

"Let's just go to the arcade already," you said, standing.

"Fine," Jean grunted, standing as well.

You licked your snow cone as you followed him through the crowd of people. Up ahead was a large white tent that resembled a little room. As you neared it, you could hear the pings of ping ball machines and the rapid fire of the shooting games. The only people who were going inside were little kids and male teenagers. No girls, just guys.

Shoving your hands into your hoodie pockets after throwing away the last of your snow cone in a nearby trash can, you followed Jean through the white flaps of the tent inside. It was dark and the only light was coming from the video games and the holes in the tent. Arcade games lined the walls of the tent in rows. In front of you was a token dispenser. You shoved your change into the slots and pressed the red glowing button. A pile of tokens fell through a hole into your hand, and you gave Jean half of it.

You gazed around at the game titles. "What do you wanna play first?" he asked.

"How about that?" you suggested, pointing to the shooting game at the back of tent. It was making the most noise there, and there was a fairly large amount of teenagers crowded around the game, shouting and cheering. All of the other games appeared too cheesy and childish, and that was the only mature game here. Plus, from the noises you heard, it sounded pretty damn cool. But the people crowding around there were a problem.

"Are you sure? Those guys look pretty hardcore," he said, sensing your slight unease.

"Shut up, Jean," you replied, walking forward. "Don't really care at the moment, I just want to play that game."

You approached the gamers from behind. The noises grew louder, and you peered above the shoulder of a boy and read the title: _'Hell Rising_.'

You glimpsed at the screen and found two boys holding onto the gun controllers, shooting at zombies. The screen flashed red when one of them was injured in anyway. The screeches and groans from the dead increased as they reached the final wave. You glanced at the high score and gaped. The second player had a high score of four million points, and it wasn't dwindling. The first player was struggling to overpass him.

"That's a really high score," Jean breathed. He could see clearly since he was taller than most of the kids here. Unfortunately, you weren't. You took your token and pushed past the boys. Now in the front, you found the piled of coins against the screen in line. They were there to show who would be playing next. You counted four tokens and you placed yours in line.

Suddenly the boys cheered and the screen was flashing with big white letters**. 'NEW HIGH SCORE: FIVE MILLION' **it read.

The second player was praised and he stepped back, a grin plastered on his face. You didn't recognize any of them from your school, so you assumed they were from another school. The first player sighed and laid down the gun controller. The second player placed his token at the end of the growing line and glanced at you.

"Huh?" he said, blue eyes regarding you under his mop of blonde hair. He looked like Armin, only his hair wasn't as long.

You blinked. It was almost like he had never seen a girl in an arcade before. You turned away and watched the other two players begin a new game. It seemed easy enough; just shoot at some zombies and kill them fast.

"This looks pretty easy," you breathed.

The teen beside you, a boy around your age, scowled and rolled his eyes. "You only say that because you've never played this game before."

You narrowed your eyes. "What's so hard about aiming and pulling a trigger?"

He only rolled his eyes, and the blonde kid from before said, "It's a lot harder than you think, actually."

You turned to him. "You were just flopping them left and right."

"That's because I've been playing this since second grade." He flashed you a grin. "I've never seen a girl in here before with as much spunk as yours. What's your name?"

Jean stared at the blonde boy as you answered, "_."

"Well, _, the objective of this game is to kill as many zombies. But you only have a pistol, and the more you kill, the better guns you get. But there are different types of zombies, ones that spray acid in your face or ones that run shitless."

"Well that's unrealistic," you remarked, deadpan.

He shrugged. "It's a game."

"I don't think I caught your name," you said.

"Douglas," he said. His eyes shifted to Jean behind you who was glowering at the blonde. "Oh hey, Jean! Didn't see you there, buddy."

Jean grumbled something but it was lost in the loud rapid fire of machine guns. "You know Douglas?" you asked, turning away from the blonde.

"For years. He's so pretentious, _god dammit."_

You raised an eyebrow. What was up with him all of a sudden?

A deep voice boomed from the game, **"YOU LOOSE."**

The two players groaned and stepped away. You glanced at the token line and stepped forward. A few of the boys quieted down at the sight of you stepping up and claiming your gold coin. You inserted it into the slot below the first player game controller. You picked up the gun and held it, a wicked grin curling your lips.

"A chick?"

"This is interesting…"

A boy with dark brown hair stepped up and picked up the gun. He inserted his token and winked at you. You deadpanned him.

"Go, Troy!"

"Oo kill 'em, Troy!"

You turned to the game screen, alert. The numbers flashed on the screen, counting down. At one, a wave of zombies appeared at the back of the misty forest. You aimed at the heads, shooting them down one by one with your pistol. The boy beside you wasn't even trying to aim for the heads, instead he shot at other less important areas. He shot one in the crotch and the boys laughed.

Suddenly a second pistol joined with yours on screen. You could only shoot with one of them. You quickly glanced down and found a small gun controller hanging on a hook. You reached for it and aimed at the screen, pulling the triggers on both guns. Troy beside you switched to duel wield pistols as well.

"Look at her score!"

"Damn!"

The pistols were gone in an instant and were replaced by a shotgun. Concentration increasing, you aimed and fired lead into the zombie's heads. One of them spit and a green liquid covered your screen. It flashed red, meaning you were getting injured, and your health went down. You growled in frustration, shooting randomly until the green gunk dissolved.

Your shotgun was replaced by a small rapid fire gun, and your kills increased. Troy had just switched to a shotgun, and his screen was flashing red repeatedly.

"Get'cha head in the game, Troy!" you barked, inducing a stream of laughter from the boys behind you. Many began singing the annoying High School Musical tune.

You glanced at your score. It was a little over four thousand already. A huge wave of zombies appeared on your screen and the small machine gun was replaced with a flamethrower.

You laughed maniacally, spraying fire everywhere. Your score increased by another two thousand and suddenly Troy's screen went red while yours froze.

The words **'WINNER'** flashed on your screen, his saying **'LOSER'.**

The boys behind you whooped and cheered. Troy scowled and threw the controller aside, glaring daggers in your direction. You winked, a sly grin plaster on your face.

Another boy stepped up beside you. He was a little on the large size, but he looked intimidating. He picked up the controller and said to you, "Let's see how long you last against me!"

"You're on!"

The crowd cheered and yet another game started. In the first minute he had already changed to duel wield pistols. You cursed; your health was lowering. You switched to duel wield and aimed at heads until the guns were replaced by a shotgun. He was already using the machine gun and had just gotten the flamethrower when multiple zombies spat the screen.

Seizing the opportunity, you caught up to him and switched to your flamethrower. Your health was dangerously low, so you made sure to stand back. His was lowering, but then the green liquid dissolved from his screen and he lit the zombies on fire. You growled and pressed the trigger down harder, stepping closer to the zombies. The flamethrower in your hand was suddenly replaced by a small control. The boys cheered as you pressed it and missiles rained down on the zombies, killing the second player as well.

Another boy stepped up, and again you won. The line of tokens were increasing; each person wanted to try and beat you. By the third win you were pumped. You glanced at Jean and found him grinning back at you. Your heart fluttered and you turned back to the game. The crowd whooped louder as Douglas stepped up.

"Hi there," he said, smiling at you.

You frowned and inserted another token, accepting his challenge. He shoved his into the slot and the game started.

Wave by wave the zombies increased. By the start of the first wave, Douglas had already switched to a shotgun while you were still on a single pistol. Your screen flashed red as a zombie scratched at you.

"Fuck!" you shouted. Your gun changed to a shotgun as his was replaced by the machine gun. You glanced at his score and found it almost to a million. Yours was only at six thousand.

The game raged on and you stepped up your game. You glanced at the second gun controller and picked it up. Your shotgun changed to duel wield machine guns, and you laughed happily as you took down the zombies faster. Douglas was already on his flamethrower.

Your score was quickly gaining up on his, now only a thousand points away. Your guns switched to duel wield flamethrower. Douglas picked up his other controller and his score increased by four hundred. You hissed in frustration. Suddenly your screen flashed red as you were injured again. The control appeared in the place of the flamethrower and you pressed the button. It made you catch up to his score, but he was still alive. His health was still nearly full.

He switched to the control and pressed the button. Your health dropped drastically and it began beeping. Desperate, your finger found a random button on your controller and there was a huge explosion.

Both of your screens flashed bright red. The two of you had died.

**'DECIMATED,'** the white lettered appeared on the screen**. 'NEW HIGH SCORE: SEVEN MILLION.'**

Everybody was screaming now, jumping and cheering. You threw your arms into the air, a goofy grin on your face. "I won? I won!"

Douglas held out his hand and you shook it. "Good game," he said with a warm smile. "This is your first time playing, right?"

"Correcto!"

You took Jean's sleeve in your hand and led him away, looking around at other games. The crowd of gamers watched in silent amazement as you and Jean began to play Pac-Man.

"That was fun," you said, turning the joystick in the direction you wanted pacman to go.

"I could tell," Jean replied, leaning against the machine.

"What do you want to do next?" you asked him. The pink ghost touched pacman and the game ended. A new one began and you let Jean take your place.

"How about we go eat some pizza," he suggested, flicking the joystick around.

"Okay." You looked into the pockets of your shorts. "I only have about fifty dollars left, so let's spend it wisely."

Jean cursed as he managed to evade the blue ghost. You watched in silence, and your eyes wandered down his lean form. Broad shoulders and a large chest; you wondered if he was built… Jean glanced down at you and your eyes flickered back to his. Face red, you looked away. He raised an eyebrow and seemed like he was going to say something, but he chose not to do so.

After a few more games, the two of you headed out for pizza. Since the whole town was participating in Celebration, every store and restaurant was open later than usual and was coated in decorations. You and Jean found a small pizzeria and ate outside at one of the tables.

You sipped at your lemonade and bit into the cheese pizza. Jean had orders buffalo chicken pizza, which to you seemed too messy.

While chewing, Jean said, "Things should be like this more often."

"Swallow, Kirsctien."

He ignored your comment. "Everything is so…"

"Calming? Yeah, it's something we haven't felt in a while, yeah?" You stared into those golden orbs of his. They glinted in the sunlight, a mixture of yellows and brows and oranges.

"Yeah…I like it." He took a huge bite of his pizza before wiping his mouth with a napkin. "We should do this more often."

"Do what?" you asked, opening your mouth for another bite of pizza.

"I…I don't know, I guess we should just go out more often. See the streets, stay out late, eat pizza and watch the stars."

"Stars?"

"What? Too cheesy?"

"No. Wait…" You twisted around in your seat to look at the sunset, only it was barely there. Splotches of pinks, yellows, and oranges were what was left of the sun in the sky. Stars dotted the sky, replacing the sun's light. The sky was now more of a dark midnight blue and changed to something more bright as it reached the horizon.

"Oh. Stars." Time sure flew by. "When are the fireworks?"

"Midnight," he answered, looking down at his lap.

You deadpanned him. "Did you just drop your pizza on your lap?"

"…nope."

"You're fucking shitting me."

You picked up the napkin dispenser and flung it at him. He caught it easily and he picked up the pizza. The cheese was hanging off and sauce dripped from. A piece of chicken fell onto the pavement as he laid the pizza on the paper plate.

"Corkscrew asshole shitting into infinity you're an idiot," you laughed.

Jean burst out laughing. "What the fuck? '_Corkscrew asshole shitting into infinity.'_ Who says that?"

"I do, ya idiot. Hurry up; I want to see more of this town."

He sighed and wiped at the sauce. After the two of you threw away your leftover food, you walked along the sidewalk for a while. You drank your lemonade and kicked your heels a little as you walked, adding a bounce to it. Jean snickered and copied your unusual gait. The two of you walked past people, grinning. They looked at you strangely as you passed.

The town was pretty old. You realized this when you passed by houses and shops that were in need of some makeovers, a few dilapidated. You were never in this part of town before, but it seemed like Jean had from the way he smiled at the people. Most were the elderly, sitting outside their shops and homes, watching the light turn dark, even if it wasn't so dark at all. Despite how rundown the streets were, there was something bright about this part of town, a fire that was never extinguished. You saw an elderly couple ahead of you, the woman pushing her husband on his wheelchair. They looked adorable, but as you neared them, you heard them speaking to one another.

"You lazy bastard. When are you going to use those arms and let me rest?" she snarled.

"When I'm dead, so would you shut up and just push?" he replied in the same icy tone.

Yup, that was the fire.

Jean and you explored for a little longer. He pointed out the many places he liked to go to, and the memories he had in them. You laughed when he laughed and smiled when he smiled. Everything about him was becoming brighter and louder the more he spoke. The sound of his voice was intoxicating, a reason why you would never need drugs. It changed in tone in a matter of seconds, from gentle to stern, from harsh to kind. And not only was his voice so outstanding to you, but so was his aroma. You smelled it in your pillows when he would come over and you would lie down side by side, you smelled it in his room; it was especially strong there. It smelled of strawberry soap and chocolate. His eyes were the most profound of his features; bright and burning like a million suns. Even when he wasn't speaking you would know what he was saying, all because of those _eyes._ He didn't want anyone to know what he was feeling the whole time, but he openly displayed those emotions in his eyes. You could read him like a book because of them.

But his presence, his voice, scent, everything about him-you loved. You hated to admit it, but you loved it when he was annoyed at you; loved it when he smiling and grinning like a smug idiot; loved it when he was frustrated and his nose would wrinkle; loved it when he would fiddle with his watch and look for something to hold onto, something to grasp when he was nervous.

You loved him. In what way? That answer was inconclusive. You just still hadn't figured it out.

When it was close to midnight and the bands were playing, the two of you decided to get away from the town and find a place to sit at. You took Jean's sleeve and led him back to the old movie theater where the hill was at. You clambered up the incline and into the forest beyond the theater. Together, you weaved through the bushes and trees and finally found a spot where the forest was at its highest on the hill. A small ledge overlooked the city in a clearing by the edge of the forest, and the two of you decided to sit there.

Feet dangling over the edge, you sat in silence, listening to the music play and the loud chatter of people below. You wondered how Hanji was doing on her date and if it was going well. She was probably with Jean's family as well.

"Hey Jean," you said, breaking the silence.

"Hm," he hummed.

"Thanks." He didn't say anything; an indication for you to continue. "Thanks for taking me here, today. It was really fun."

He smiled in the dark. Slipping off his hoodie, he rolled it up into a pillow and lay down beside you.

"I don't know, I feel like there's a lot more you should be thanking me for."

"You idiot. Do you need me to say it all?"

"Yes please."

"You don't need me to say it. Say it to yourself."

Silence again. The crickets chirped all around you, and somewhere off in the distance a loon called to its mate.

"_," Jean said, staring up into the starry sky.

"What?"

"Thanks for being my friend…and putting up with my shitty personality. And my problems. And for coming to me when I have nightmares. You're like Marco, to me."

"No I'm not," you sighed, pulling your knees against your chest and resting your chin on them. "I can't get up at three in the morning everyday to comfort you like he did. I can barely make myself feel any better…so how can I make you feel better?"

He didn't say anything.

"You_ fucking_ idiot," he grunted, sitting up.

"Wha?" you said.

His eyes were full of annoyance, eyebrows furrowed. "Are you _blind?_ You're an idiot; do you know that? God."

You blinked. What?

"I'm not asking you to do everything Marco did for me. I'm not asking you to be him. I understand you won't always be there for me, but _god dammit_ you _try_ and that's what matters. What I don't understand is why you're still beating yourself up."

"Jean…"

"You know what? I'll fucking say it because I don't fucking care." He laughed nervously, running a hand through his hair.

_"I love you_," he declared.

You were silent. A blush spread across your cheeks as you stared at him, wide eyed.

"I'm glad you're in my life," he went on, his words finally catching up to him. His cheeks reddened. "I needed you in my life I need you to be _you_, because that's what I love most about you. _Fucking damn special, dammit."_

He toyed with his watch as he fell silent. He looked away, embarrassed, and said quietly, "I just can't help falling in love with you."

Tears blurred your vision and you sniffed. He turned back to you as you wiped your eyes. You smiled through the tears and laughed. He watched as you giggled in rapture. You pulled back your and punched his shoulder hard.

"Ow! What the _fuck!_?"

"I love you, too, you pathetic oaf!" you said, tears spilling down your cheeks. His blush only spread and he sputtered.

"Oh geez. P-please don't cry. Why do I always make you cry?"

"Because you're the only person I can cry in front of," you answered, smiling at him in the dark.

"Is that good or bad?"

"Good, Jean…it's definitely good."

He smiled and took your hand, his warm fingers tangling within yours. You squeezed his hand and leaned against him, smile growing wider.

You said it. You finally said it. You needed to say it. Had to. And you did.

You loved him, after all.

Jean brought your hand up to his lips and kissed your knuckles. Blushing furiously, you leaned closer to him, just like you did a few hours ago. He leaned in, the distance between the two of you decreasing. You could feel his warm breath on your cool lips, and your eyes fluttered closed. Titling your head, you pressed your lips against Jean's, feeling him kiss you back.

You shivered, moving your lips against his in a slow, gentle kiss. His hand cupped your cheek, the other still intertwined in your own. He tasted of lemonade and snow cones, pretty much two of your favorite things.

Jean pulled back slightly, lips still an inch away from your own, which were tingling for the sensation of the kiss. His forehead pressed against yours and you closed your eyes, inhaling his dark aroma.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, eyes closed and hearts pounding. The cool night air bit at your whatever exposed skin there was, and the two of you shivered. Jean wrapped his arm around you and pulled you down. You yelped, falling against his chest. He held you close and stared at the night sky.

You sighed deeply, genuinely calm for the first time in your life. This was what you needed. This was what it meant to mend.

Suddenly there a low whistle and something flew into the sky. Your eyes widened as it popped loudly, and a splash of color danced across the sky. Another firework burst in the sky, then another.

"Perfect timing," Jean whispered.

You hummed in agreement.

Firework after firework the dark sky was illuminated by the different colors. They fizzled and popped, in the wondrous silence. Red and white, green and yellow, blue and purple. Smaller fireworks were taking place on the ground; smaller pops and sizzles supported this. Somewhere down below people were cheering, and you hummed a little song. Jean joined in, humming contently with you.

Jean's pocket suddenly exploded in a fit of rings. You disentangled your limbs from Jean's and sat up. He propped himself on his elbow and pulled out his cellphone and answered.

"Hello?" he asked. You could hear a voice on the other end speak, frantic and high pitched. Jean paled, shock and fear taking over his features. After the voice finished talking, he hung up. Slowly, he lowered the phone from his ear and stared at the grassy floor.

"Jean? What's wrong?"

He dropped his cell phone and buried his hand in his hands, whispering, _"No, no, no."_

"Jean!"

He looked up at you and your eyes widened. Tears fell from his eyes and his face was etched in confusion and shock.

"I-it's _Mar…,"_ Jean choked out, voice cracking and breathing heavily. _**"I-it's Marco…they found Marco."**_

_**Hell yeah it's finished! 44 pages and over 15, 600 words! Sorry it took so long for me to update, I was writing this monster. I suggest listening to the suggested song at the beginning of the chapter while the part with the fireworks show up. Hehe.**_

_**Tell me your predictions? What do you think happened to Marco?**_

_**DUN DUN DAAHH SUSPENSE**_

_**I don't own snk nor its characters. You belong to Jean**_


	8. Chapter 8

**(AN: Trigger warnings. Tw: murder Tw: grief Tw: Loss Tw: Rape Tw: Sexual assault) **

**Feel New Chapter Eight: The River In Their Hearts**

_"Well, prove to me_

_I'm not gonna die alone_

_Unstitch that shed off soul_

_To close up the hole that tore through my skin_

_All my trust in you_

_Is a dog with a broken leg"_

**-The Antlers "Putting The Dog To Sleep"**

Marco Bodt was found dead in the river by the ice cream parlor.

It was the very same spot he had disappeared in. The reason was unknown why he was returned there if his kidnappers made such an effort to hide him for all of the months.

You watched from afar, standing at the edge of the forest by the gravel lot. The cool night air blew and tousled your hair, and you moved your hand to brush it aside. Police lines were everywhere, bright yellow in the darkness. They reminded you of the day of the accident, except there was no accident.

This was murder.

The smell of salt from the river and gasoline from the police cars filled your nose. The bright lights of the police cars were the only illumination in the lot, casting deep shadows. The quiet murmur of the crime scene investigators and police floated among the parking lot. The sound of a woman wailing, crying and screaming in anguish, was the only other sound that filled the air, which lay forever stagnant. Marco's body was still in the process of being pulled out, and his mother wept, broken. Her husband stood beside her, staring at the ground as a line tear fell from his eye. He was numb.

"What are we going to tell Marie?" he asked, voice cracking.

Marco's mother only shook her head, crying even harder. "She's at a sleepover," she choked out. "Oh my baby! My Marco!"

Mr. Bodt fell to his knees beside his wife, holding her. "My son!" wailed the woman. "_Marco_!"

You looked away. The Kirschtein family were with Hanji. They stood behind the two Bodt parents, silently mourning. They made no move to comfort them, knowing it was for the best.

The crane finally lifted Marco's body from the river over the ledge. He was wrapped in a dark plastic bag. The investigators rushed over as the body was set down in the center of the lot. You watched as they began examining the body, barking orders and giving information.

You imagined his body as cold as your mother's and as bloody as your sister's.

Your eyes shifted to the ledge over the river, where a lone figure sat away from everyone else, staring down into the dark waters. Jean hadn't spoken a word since you had arrived, emotionless. He was numb again, mourning the grievous loss of his best friend for life.

Jean pulled back his head and closed his eyes, forcing the tears back. You walked past the investigators and past Marco's family, past his mother who had now crumpled to the ground, broken, and past the parlor. You stood behind Jean. The wind danced around his hair, causing it to flutter in the breeze. His hands were in his lap, clenched. His nails were digging into his palm, and you knew what he was doing. You had done the same, thinking that maybe hurting yourself would bring back some feeling since you were so numb.

You sat beside Jean, feet dangling over the edge. He didn't open his eyes, nor acknowledge your presence. You made sure to keep a little space between the two of you in case he didn't want you to touch him. You'll let him do so first. You stared into the sea, listening to the low murmur of the investigators and the crying, the horrible _horrible_ crying.

Abruptly, Jean raised his fist and slammed in into the ground, right between you and him. Your eyes shifted to him. He was hunched over, breathing heavily.

"Dammit...," he growled. "_Dammit!_"

Again, he punched the ground. You watched as he lifted his hand away and clutched it, bringing it to his forehead. He shut his eyes and sniffed, shoulders shaking. Blood dripped from his split knuckles.

"Why Marco?" he growled, sobbing. "_Why?_ Why not me? Why not someone else?"

You looked away, hanging your head. You closed your eyes, feeling the familiar heat build behind them as tears poured from the corners of your eyes.

Jean sobbed, breath hitching in his throat. He opened his eyes and stared into the starry sky. "You made a promise, Marco," he whispered. "Together forever, right? You've never broken a promise before...so why now?"

He looked as if he was about the ground again and you lifted your hand, stopping him from doing so. He whipped around to look at you, cheeks tear stained and eyes bloodshot. There was grief in his eyes, but there was anger. Aimed at _you._

"Jean, I can't let you hurt yourself like this..."

_"Shut up_," he growled, twisting his hand out of your grip. You stared up at him helplessly.

He wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve. "Maybe if...we never met this wouldn't have happened..."

Your eyes widened. "Jean...!"

"Maybe I'd be more prepared...if I was still not talking...keeping it in," he went on, tone bitter and full of distaste. His anger was aimed at you...

Why was he angry at you? What did _you_ do wrong? You were only trying to help!

"Jean-"

"Go away, _." He turned his head away from you, eyes boring into the dark waves of the river below.

You reached for him but he lashed out, fist swatting your hand away harshly, twisting it away. "I said _go_!" he grit through clenched teeth, tense.

You stared at him. He..._hit_ you... You glanced down at your hands, then back at him. Tears blurred your vision, but you forced them back.

"I don't need you...," Jean said. "Just..._go_..."

You stood, gaze hardening. Fists clenched, you stared at Jean's hunched back, seething with anger. "You fucking idiot. You're an idiot; do you know that?"

He didn't say anything.

"If you think you don't need me, fine. You could have told me instead of pushing me away like that." You breathed in, trying to control your voice, but it was wavering, breaking. "I could have left you alone. I only wanted to help. You've helped me so many times before...I just wanted to be like you."

He still didn't say anything.

"I don't think I want to be like you." You stared at him, still. "You can still come back, Jean. You just need to stop drowning and get yourself out of those damn emotions and I can help you mend, just like what we were doing before."

He still hadn't said a word.

Anger bubbled within you. You picked up a rock from the ground and flung it at him. It bounced off his head. He still didn't move.

"Say something! Say _something_ already! Jean!" you yelled.

He looked away.

"Don't just stay quiet! Don't go back to that life, Jean. _Don't..._"

Silence.

You fell to your knees beside him and stared at the ground, refusing to look at him.

"You told me you loved me," you whispered. "Do you hate me now?"

He didn't say anything, nor did he turn to look at you.

"Fine. I just want you to know that I still love you, Jean." You sighed, rubbing your arms as the cold night air bit at them. "If you want to come back, swim you jackass."

You stood and turned, brushing past people. You wiped at your eyes and forced the tears back, but one managed to escape. You ran into Hanji's arms and she held you tightly, her eyes watching Jean's form intently.

"Lets go home, _," she mumbled into your (h/c) locks.

You nodded and didn't stop until you were in the car, driving home.

Your eyes fluttered open as the car's engine stopped rumbling. Hanji glanced at you beside her and you unbuckled your seat belt.

"_," she said.

You turned to her.

"If you're mad at Jean for treating you like that...don't be," she said, eyes shifting up to meet yours.

You remained silent as she spoke.

"He needs you more now that ever before. He just doesn't realize it. Seeing his best friend like that...dead...it's..."

"I know," you whispered, voice cracking. "It's...it sucks." You exhaled, running a hand through your hair.

"Don't be mad at him, _," she pleaded, reaching over and laying her hand on yours.

"How can I not be? Hanji, he hates me now. He said he wishes we never met, that I made him talking, that if I didn't, he'd be prepared! How would he know his best friend is dead? How do you prepare for something like that?"

You sighed, rubbing your temple. "Hanji...he told me he loved me...does he hate me? Did he mean those words?"

She didn't answer right away. She looked away in thought before looking back to you. "_, sometimes people say things they really do mean, but then say something that makes you think of it otherwise." She paused. "Now that I think about it, Jean is more like you, now."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I know how you acted before with the other foster homes. Breaking things, snapping at people, saying hurtful things. He's being like that now. The only emotion he can process is anger, like you did before, and misery."

You watched as the car lit up from the headlights of an SUV as it passed by where you were parked. You looked away and squeezed Hanji's hand. "What should I do, then?" you asked.

"What you've been doing this whole time, _. Just...give him a day before reaching out to him."

You nodded and let go of her hand and opened the car door. You followed closely behind Hanji as you walked up to the porch together. She unlocked the door and you stepped inside after her.

At first you didn't hear anything as you walked into the dark house, but then there was a scuffle in the corner beside the couch, and a low keen.

"Bean?" Hanji called, confused.

You switched on the light and found Bean in the corner, writhing in agony. He fumbled onto his front paws and retched, throwing up on the floor.

"_Bean_!" Hanji cried, rushing to him.

He panted, chest heaving. His usually bright eyes were now cloudy from sickness, and his happy face was weary.

You ran to Hanji's side as she reached towards the German Shepard, and Bean stared at her hand. Suddenly he lunged at her and bit her hand, snarling. Hanji yelped, and you pushed Bean back, incredulous.

"What's wrong with him?!" you asked, horrified as he retched onto the carpet.

Hanji held her bleeding hand to her chest. "He's...he's sick." She turned to you. "Come on; we need to take to the vet-ASAP."

You nodded and stood as Hanji carefully picked up Bean, laying a nearby towel on his face. He calmed down considerably, but he was still whining and twitching in pain.

You followed Hanji back to into the car where you held the massive dog in your lap. Hanji drive quickly, worry etched into her face. You petted Bean soothingly, terrified of what was to come. How long had this been happening?

"Hanji," you asked, voice breaking. "Hanji, how long has he been like this?"

She bit her lip. "A month."

"_A month_?" you repeated, disbelief in your voice. "And you didn't do anything about it?"

"I did. I took him to the vet, and he's been on medication. Oh sweetie, haven't you noticed his fatigue? He's been throwing up left and right."

"I've noticed how tired he was, but not that! What did the vet say?"

"That he was just sick, that was all."

"Mom, he bit you-"

You froze, and Hanji tensed up at your words. You looked away.

You cleared your throat. "He bit you," you said quietly.

"That was only because he was hurting," she replied, glancing at you as she drove.

Bean whined and twitched his leg in your lap. Finally you arrived at the vet, which thankfully was still open. Carrying Bean into the emergency room, Hanji quickly told the receptionist Bean's symptoms. He whined under the towel and let out a low keen as she did so, and the receptionist called in a nurse.

You followed the nurse to a room where you lay Bean down onto the table, Hanji beside you.

"The doctor will be here shortly," said the nurse curtly, and she left.

"Oh god," you murmured. "I can't go through any more of this..."

Hanji rubbed your shoulder. "Everything's is going to be fine," she said soothingly, but there was a hint of doubt in her voice, so you held onto it.

Not a minute later did a doctor step in. After reexplaining Bean's symptoms, the veterinarian checked the dog's vitals. It was when he was feeling Bean's stomach did his eyebrow knit together.

"He needs an x-ray," he explained quickly. He called in two other nurses and they wheeled Bean out of the room. A third nurse came to Hanji, holding a first aid's kit.

You watched from the only seat in the corner of the room as Hanji's hand was stitched by the woman. Your chest rose and fell quickly.

Not Bean. You couldn't lose anyone else.

But why were you getting so worked up over a dog? It was a stupid mutt!

But it was_Bean_. And Bean was Bean.

When the doctor returned with the x-rays, he spoke to Hanji in private outside. You waited, pulling your knees up to your chest and resting your forehead on them, closing your eyes. First Mom, then your sister, then your Father began his drinking problem, and now Jean isn't talking anymore and Bean's sick.

_What else could go wrong?_

Hanji returned and closed the door behind her softly, eyes trained on the ground. You lifted your head. "Is he going to be okay?"

"_, the vet says there's a growing mass in his stomach," she said, eyes finally meeting yours. They were filled with tears. "He...the best way...he needs to be put down."

You froze. Tears filled your eyes. "No," you sobbed, voice breaking. "No, not Bean."

"It'll be painless..._, he's in so much pain," she murmured, wrapping her arms around you.

"I can't keep loosing people," you sobbed into her shoulder.

"_," she whispered, sniffing. "Let's go say goodbye to Bean."

He was laid down on an examination table, chest heaving and whining. His legs were secured and he had a muzzle on his snout, and it broke your heart to see him chained up like that.

You wrapped your arms around his furry neck and Hanji kissed his head. You held him as the nurse inserted the needle, and as his thrashing soon died down to nothing. You held him even after he died, after they had removed the muzzle and the ties around his legs. You wept into his fur, unable to hold the tears.

A hand fell onto your shoulder, causing you to look up. Hanji stood there, wiping her red eyes. "Let's go home," she whispered, and you nodded.

"Yes," you whispered back.

You drove home in silence, save for the sound of Hanji's sniffing and your hiccuping sobs. When you arrived back to the porch and unlocked the door, you found Sawney sitting on the steps, tail moving back and forth. His green eyes search behind you as Hanji entered after you, and they seem to widen a fraction.

He meowed, and you choked back a sob.

Sitting down on the stairs beside him, you buried your head in your hands.

_"Mrow?_" he asked, pawing at your arm.

"He's not coming back, Sawney," you murmured.

Your words didn't reach him because he stood and hopped down the stairs, brushing past Hanji and to the door, where he poked his head out.

"Mooow," he called, searching for his companion. He ran back to you and sniffed at your sneakers.

"Mow," he mewled. Then he pulled his head back and let out a long, mournful keen. He wailed and wailed, grievous. Hanji sat beside you and cries, clutching at her hair. You stared off into space as the cat continued to wail, no longer having a friend to run away from or to chase, no friend in crime or play pal-nothing.

Only himself.

You stared at the cat, watching as he wailed and wailed. You reached over to pet him comfortingly when he lashed out, hissing. You pulled your hand back in time, and Sawney began to wail again. When the cat caught your hurt gaze, he jumped onto your lap, gazing up at you.

He let out a small wail, and you stared down at him in your lap.

He was mourning, then he had lashed out...now he's comforting you?

_Jean..._

You sighed and wiped your bloodshot eyes and wrapped your arm around Hanji, who's shoulders were shaking as she stifled her sobs.

"It's okay," you murmured to her. "He's up there, now..."

She nodded, saying something incompressible.

So you held her as she cried, and you stared into space, wondering:

_Is there going to be more of this?_

The morning after you found the local news plastering Marco's face and film from Celebration.

"Local boy, Marco Bodt, went missing months ago," the reporter droned, emotionless,"not to be seen at all in his time gone. Police searched desperately for the sixteen year old, but found nothing. Now, on the night of the island's famous summer Celebration, he reappeared by the Riverside Ice, found dead in the river."

You nearly choked on your cereal as they showed pictures of Marco's body bag and his wailing mother and father. Bile filled your mouth as you watched.

"After a thorough autopsy, investigators believe he was killed from the multiple stab wounds to the chest." A woman in a dark blue coat appeared on the screen, and her name flashed at the corner of the screen: Jane Alverez, Investigator. She spoke.

"We found no witnesses of the murder, nor have any information if anyone had seen anything suspicious. We believe he was killed before he was dumped into the river."

A hand cupped your mouth as you choked back a sob.

"Investigators also found information that disturbed them," the reporter spoke again as more footage filled the television screen. "After running more tests, they believe Marco Bodt was raped multiple times, as well as-"

The screen went black as you pressed the off button on the remote quickly. You pressed a hand to your forehead, desperately trying to control your labored breathing as tears fell from your eyes, falling onto the carpet below.

This _couldn't_ be happening.

Two days into summer vacation and after that night, and still no sign of life from Jean. His mother, though, did cross the street one morning when you couldn't sleep and Hanji was still in bed, thinking about Bean.

You answered the door and there stood Mrs. Kirsctien, eyes slightly red and nose pink. She didn't say anything, and neither did you when you let her in, sitting at the dining table.

The two of you sat there for an hour as you prepared coffee and set two cups in front of you. And when Mrs. Kirsctien left, still not saying a word, you found that her coffee was cold, untouched.

She did the same thing the next morning, and you still prepared the coffee for her. And she came the day after that. It was after the fourth day that she began to speak.

"Jean isn't talking anymore," she said, voice hoarse and empty in the silent kitchen. You watched your coffee swirl in the mug as she went on. "I knew this would happen...not even you can help him?"

You shrugged. "He hates me now..."

She looked surprised at that. "What do you mean?"

"Mrs. Kirschtien...I love your son, and he loves me-he told me...but he said some things that night that..."

She sighed deeply, shoulders slumping. She sipped at her coffee. "I think he regrets saying those words, whatever they were..."

You looked up at her. "What?"

"He's been locked up in his room these past few days. Yes, he's mourning for Marco-we all are, especially when he watched the news...," here her voice cracked, but she composed herself quickly, "but there was something else. He's been opening and closing his phone like he's been trying to text someone."

You glanced away. "Is Jean still like this?"

She nodded. "I can't...I want my baby son back. I want to hear his beautiful voice again. Please." Her sad eyes met your own, pleading. "Help him like you had done before..."

You stared at her in silence, dubious of how to answer. You took a sip from your mug, choosing not to answer. You lay down the mug before asking, "Where do the Bodts live?"

A day later, you stood in front of a small house. It was on a steep hill, and it was connected to another house. The sidewalk was cracked in front of the front stairs and dandelions grew wildly from there. The street smelled of dirt and trash as it baked in the hot summer sun. The paint was chipping, revealing a pinkish yellow underneath the white. It was in need of some help, that house, but maybe that was how Marco liked it. Maybe he didn't want a big house like Jean, or a lush front lawn.

You trotted up the stairs and up to the front door. You tugged at your shorts nervously as you opened the creaking screen door and knocked on the front door. You stepped back and leaned on the railing behind you.

The door opened a minute later, revealing the same woman you saw from Celebration. Her eyes were red and puffy, nose the same color. Her dark hair was pushed into a tight yet messy bun on her head, and a few strands fell into her face. Freckles dotted her tearstained cheeks.

"How may I help you?" she asked, sniffing and trying to put feeling into her tone.

"You're Marco's mother, right?" you asked, and she nodded. "I'm Jean's friend...the one who made him talk."

She nodded. "Yes...his mother told me a lot about you..."

"I recall that you had a daughter?"

She stiffens. "Y-yes..."

"May I see her?"

She didn't say anything, only stepped aside after a moment, nodding in agreement. Stepping inside, you glanced at the old furniture and pictures hanging on the wall, unfamiliar smiling faces gleaming down on you and in the dim house. The ceiling fan moved slowly, barely creating any wind, and squeaked as it did. You cautiously walked down a narrow hallway, where there were three bedroom doors. Mrs. Bodt followed you and laid a hand on your shoulder as she stopped you by the last door in the end of the hall.

"If...if you're going to help her," she whispered. "Then..._please._ Her name is Marie. She hasn't spoken to anybody for the past few days. She hasn't left her room, either." Her dark eyes were pleading silently and you gave her a small nod, opening the door.

It was a girl's room, walls painted a light blue and stuffed animals sitting on a ledge above the bed, which sported a floral blanket. The room looked as if it hadn't been cleaned in days, and a lone figure sat on the bed, head in hands. You guessed she was Marie. Her shoulders shook and a stifled sob filled the dimly lit room.

You closed the door behind you and sat down beside her. Marie didn't acknowledge your presence as you sat there.

"Marie?" you asked quietly after a few more seconds of silence.

The girl looked up slowly, and you stared at her face. She looked exactly like Marco, with a freckled face and dark hair, round face but strong jawline. She looked to be about twelve. Her dark eyes stared into your own in confusion.

"Who're you?" she asked, sniffing.

"I'm _ _, a really close friend of Jean's."

She nodded. "Oh. You. The one who...didn't keep his trap shut. Yeah..." A tear fell down her face. "Yeah."

"I heard about Marco."

She nodded again. "Yeah..."

"I'm sorry about what happened. You must know he was..."

"What? Murdered? Left to _die_? _Raped?_" Her tone became angrier as she spoke. "Yeah. I know. Why do you think I'm so fucking sad, huh?"

You remained unfazed by her anger. She clenched her fists and let out a hiccuping sob. "I saw the news. I heard the police talking to my parents. I know...I've heard about it on the Internet, you know? Rape, I mean. I just thought it wasn't real, like a story passed through generations, a myth." She shook her head and let out a laugh, and it was nothing but bitter. "I'm such an idiot, thinking it won't happen to the people I know."

"Marie, how do you feel?"

"Why the _fuck_do you care,_huh?_ Why do you care what I'm feeling? Do you even _know_? _You don't know!_ You don't _fucking_ know!" Her breathing quickened.

"Marie, I do know-"

"How?!" she demanded, whipping around to face you. "._..how_?"

How could a girl like her be so angry? She deserved so much more. She didn't deserve this. Marco didn't deserve to be murdered.

You stared at the tsunami in her dark eyes and answered, "Half a year ago, my mother and little sister died in a car accident. I was the only one who survived. I woke up covered in their blood-"

"N-no...wait-"

"-my three year old sister was dead, right beside me, my mother-"

"Stop...stop..." she sobbed.

"-her neck had snapped in the accident, and the horrible smell of gasoline filled the air-"

"Stop! Stop!" Marie screeched, clutching her head and sobbing. You stared at her as crumpled, hiccuping as sobs wracked her body.

"I'm sorry," she said in between breaths. "I'm _sorry._"

"You can't just assume people don't have lives as shitty as your own," you said quietly. "How long have you been in here, Marie?"

"T-three days," she sobbed.

"Have you eaten anything?"

She shook her head.

You stood and left her room. You found the kitchen and found a nice apple, one that looked less bruised than the rest, and washed it. You brought it back to Marie, who eyed it hungrily.

"Eat," you told her, and she did, taking a monstrous bite from the green apple.

"Marie, what do you think is the best way to deal with grief?"

She swallowed. "I don't know...talk with someone?"

"That's one way. Any others?"

She glared at you for a moment. "I heard something about exercising..."

"Marie, what do like in life? What do you look forward to?"

She didn't answer right away. Lost in thought, she took another bite from the apple before replying, "Marco always liked the way I wrote. He said that...that if I keep writing, that maybe I'll be able to write a book." She paused before adding, "I love to write."

"Write then. When's the last time you did?"

She shrugged, and her sunken eyes met yours. "A couple of weeks ago, I g-guess."

She glanced at a pile of notebooks in the corner of the room. She reached over and picked one up, slipping out a pencil from the spirals of the notebook. She opened it and stared at the blank page, pencil tip hovering over the page. She lowered her hand and her pencil danced across the page, littering it in letters that became words that became sentences that became a story with meaning.

You watched as she wrote. "_," she said after a while. "Don't you have a dad?"

You tensed for a moment. "I do."

"Where is he?" she asked as she wrote.

"Home."

"Where are you?"

"At a foster home."

"Why?"

"Because my dad isn't very good at being a dad."

She fell silent. "_, are you okay?"

You paused. "Me?"

She nodded. "Yeah. _You_."

You paused. "Somedays I am. But being happy is temporary. The loss comes back to bite you sometimes, and you feel like giving into it. Don't give into it Marie. Remind yourself that you have things to do. Forget your pain, but don't forget what caused it and what it taught you."

She nodded, not listening very intently. You watched her before standing and leaving her room.

Mrs. Bodt was waiting for you in the living room. She was seated on the couch, a can of beer in her hand. You eyed her weary form.

"How is she?" the woman asked.

"She's still sad. She probably won't be talking to anyone for a while yet."

That answer made Mrs. Bodt angry for some reason. Her face contorted. "What? Can't you do anything else? Do what you did with Jean! Can't you do _anything_ else?!"

You blinked. "He's different, Mrs. Bodt. Marie is different. I'm not a miracle worker, either, Mrs. Bodt. Do you think she's going to come out skipping, no longer remembering her brother's death? Things take _time._ She's not going to be better right away."

Mrs. Bodt sniffed. She took a long swig from the can. "Can't you do a little more? _Please_, she's the only thing I have..."

"She needs to figure things out on her own, but I believe she's better than she was before. And you need to figure things out as well."

She grimaced and took another long drink, downing the last of the can. She pulled another can from beside the couch and popped it open, drinking from it right away. You watched as the bronze fluid traveled down her throat.

"Mrs. Bodt...how many drinks have you had?"

"This is my fifth drink," she answered, staring at the can in her hand and sloshing its contents inside.

You strode forward and tore the can from her grip and took the rest that lay beside the couch.

"What are you doing?" she asked as you strode into the kitchen. She watched as you popped open all of the cans and drained their contents down the sink. She wasn't even trying to stop you. When you crushed all of the cans and placed them into the recycling bin and walked back to the living room, you found her trying to drink a few stray drops from the can she had previously downed.

You slapped the can from her hands, causing it to fly across the room and clatter to the floor.

"Hey...that was mine," she said weakly.

"You have to stop drinking! Is this how you're going to show Marie to deal with the grief?!" you shouted at the half drunk woman. "Are you going to invite her to drink with you? Are you going to have her _clean up_ your throw up and _deal_with your hang over? _Are you?!"_

Mrs. Bodt began crying. "No! _No...no._"

You stood back, catching your breath. When did your chest feel so congested? You turned around from the woman's crying form on the dusty, old couch. You opened the front door and left the house.

And Mrs. Bodt was still repeating the same word over and over again, even after you left.

You felt _horrible._ As you walked down the narrow street that led away from the Bodt's and down the steep hill, you felt the need to scream, to kick, to destroy. You needed a way to let out these pent up feelings.

Tears pricked your eyes, and you wiped them away. Was that the only way? _Crying?_ Was that all you could ever do?

Your breathing quickened as you crossed the street, and you walked faster, desperate to get home so you wouldn't start crying on the street like the idiot you were, and you were so busy trying to calm down that you didn't notice the person in front of you as you bumped into them.

"Oops, sorry-" a man apologized, and you turned around to see who it was.

You stared at Mr. Francis, and he stared back. "_? A-are you _alright?_"

You shook your head. "M-mr. Francis, c-could I please...I can't..."

He took your arm. "Come on, you need to sit. My place isn't too far from here."

He was right, it wasn't. You had only walked a few blocks when you stopped by a small house beside a car wash. He led you inside the tiny home, and you sat on the couch, hugging yourself as he went into the kitchen.

You closed your eyes and counted to ten, touching your thumb to your fingers as you did, just like your mother had taught you when you became scared. You felt yourself relax at her memory as Mr. Francis walked back into the small room, holding a pitched of iced tea and two red plastic cups.

"_, are you alright?" he asked, blue eyes dark with concern.

You shook your head. "No," you said, voice shaky. You opened your eyes and stared at the dusty floor.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked cautiously.

You shrugged. "Mr. Francis, I don't know if I can...there's just so much going on..."

"You don't need to tell me," he assured you. "Ice tea?"

You nodded and he poured you a cup of the yellow liquid, a stray lemon slice plopping into your cup. You took it from him and drank the cool liquid, sighing.

"Thanks," you said.

"You're welcome. You know, it almost looked like you wanted to kill someone out there." He chuckled a little, hoping to add humor to the situation. It wasn't really funny, but you smiled a little.

"I'm not having the best week of my life," you admitted.

"Knee deep in shit?" he asked, and you glanced up at him, surprised. He seemed unfazed by his cussing.

"More like _chest_high."

"Hey, _...you finished reading the book?" he asked.

"Shoot. I forgot to return it I'm so-"

"No, no keep it."

"Okay," you said, taking a sip of the cool tea. "But yeah, I finished it."

"Did you like it?"

You nodded. "You chose the right thing for me to read."

"I was only trying to help."

You glanced around the room, finding framed book quotes on the wall and a stack of books in the corner. He followed your gaze.

"Ah. My collection. See anything you know?"

"The Lord of the Rings, but nothing else," you said.

He nodded. "Tell me, _, what is your favorite part of reading?"

You paused. "I guess just going off to another world? They seem so perfect."

"Explain," Mr. Francis said.

"It's not my life, for one."

"You don't like your life?"

"It sucks, but yeah. Life has a lot of ups and downs, but possibly more downs."

"So you read to escape from your own world?"

"I guess?"

"Does it make the problems go away?"

"No, not really."

He took a long drink from his cup. "So you've been having a shitty week."

"Yep," you confirmed, drumming your fingers on the plastic cup.

"Scale from one to ten?"

You thought for a second. "Nine."

He let out a low whistle. "Wow."

You nodded. "Yup."

He nodded. "You're a strong girl. You know why?"

You shrugged. "Why?"

"Because you called a ten a nine," he answered, blue eyes meeting your (e/c) orbs.

The two of you just sat there, regarding each other.

"Mr. Francis, are you single?"

"_, I know I'm smoking hot but you're going to have to resist me-"

"That's not what I mean," you said, laughing.

"To answer your question, yes I am."

"Don't you get lonely?"

"Of course. But I have my books to keep me company."

"Pets?"

He shook his head. "Not anymore. My dog died a few years ago."

You nodded. "Sorry to hear that. My mom-um, I mean, Hanji, my foster parent, had a dog, but he died a few days ago."

"Were you close with the animal?" he asked.

You nodded. "He was a German Shepard named Bean. Was the cutest. But now he's gone, and Hanji's gotten pretty depressed."

"I never understood pets. What's the point of feeding an animal, bathing it, paying for vet bills- all that stuff? It just seems so irrelevant. And what do you get in return? A companion that will never leave your side, a friend you could tell your secrets to, the friend to cuddle with. You get love." The man sighed, lost in his warm memories. "And that's all we ever want in life, no?"

You drank a little of the iced tea. "Mr. Francis, do you mind if I borrow some of your books?"

"Sure, as many as you want," he agreed, standing. He picked out three for you, all from the same author-Jordan Sonnenblick- and you told him it was time you should leave.

"Hey, _," he said as you reached for the door. "If you ever need something, or if your in trouble, you could always come to me, okay?"

You regarded him before nodding. "Yeah...okay. Thanks." And with that, you left the small home and went on your way back home, rushing halfway through when you realized you had to pee really badly.

_**Trigger warnings. Unfortunately, this is a sad chapter. And I mean sad. I did warn you guys about angst and the trigger warnings. Things are just going to go downhill from here. BTW, im off hiatus and MTAWB will be updated soon.**_

_**Sorry that I killed off marco. *Shrug* It's what I planned from the beginning! **_

_**That's all I can write for now because my sister really is being a dick(sHUT UP) about using the computer**_

_**I don't snk you belong to Jean**_


	9. Chapter 9

**Feel New Chapter Nine: Pacing The Church Corridor, The Zombie Prepares His Eulogy **

_"Your heart they liked the meat_  
><em>It was too tough to eat<em>  
><em>To chew and grind with teeth<em>  
><em>To chew and grind with teeth<em>  
><em>Your love zombies<em>

_And all those men you beast_  
><em>You beast<em>  
><em>You beast!<em>  
><em>You<em>**_BEAST_**_!_  
><em>Gentlemen are we"<em>  
><strong>-Chris Garneau "Love Zombies"<strong>

Taking a deep breath, you stood in the dawn, still in your pajamas, staring down at the overturned dirt at your feet, rocks surrounding the dark circle. And on a small plank of wood, there was the carving that Hanji had been working on in the confinement of her room, ever silent.

The god damned dog looked so happy, even when his last moments were spent in unbearable pain until suddenly…there was none. And darkness returned, disguised as slumber, and the animal gave in willingly, not knowing that death's hand had taken his leash.

You brushed your fingers over the carving of Bean, fingernails tracing the gentle carves of his fur in the wind, until you rested your fingers on his eyes, so lifelike. And you yearned for the gleam to return to those beautiful dark eyes.

Speaking of dead eyes…

Squinting through the maze of logs and past the side of the house where you caught a small glimpse of a lone lanky figure sitting with his back to the tree, the tree you knew his freckled friend climbed so many times before, memorizing where each foot should go and what branch to grab.

There was still nothing from him, even if the funeral for Marco Bodt was tomorrow. No words had left Jean's mouth, no flick of the tongue, nor the movement of his lips. And you had begun to worry he wouldn't say anything at the funeral.

You didn't have to say anything, though.

Two days ago, Mrs. Bodt had knocked on your door, and being in your room, Hanji had answered. Moments later, you heard her call for you. You remember running down the stairs, hoping for it to be Jean, just knowing it was, when you slowed down on the last flight of stairs, (e/c) eyes taking in the sight of Mrs. Bodt, looking more presentable than the day you had visited. You still remembered yelling at the poor drunk woman, and hearing her cry as you let yourself out of the humid house.

The freckled woman gave you a small smile, but it wasn't enough to crinkle the corners of her eyes. Her sad, dark eyes regarded you quietly as you stood in front of her, waiting.

"I…," she began, but you waved a hand.

"Mrs. Bodt, I'm sorry for last time if that's what you were going to-"

"No, _," she sighed, eyes firm. "I wanted to say _thank_ you. You…"

"Yeah…you don't have to say it," you finished for her.

She took in a deep breath. "I thought about the things you said. I can't do that to Marie, not after what we've been through. _, I wanted to invite you to the funeral."

She produced a small white envelope from her pocket, the corner of it slightly wrinkled, and held it out to you. You stared at her for a moment before taking it.

"Thanks…," you said, not sure what to say. What, do you say 'thank you' for being invited to a funeral? It's not exactly fun and games at those things, and you knew from experience.

"Do I…have to say anything?" you asked her.

She shook her head. "You don't have to. I already asked Jean to give an eulogy."

And that was that. You were invited to Marco Bodt's funeral.

Staring at Jean's figure from across the yard, you crept closer, eyes never leaving his face. As you stepped into the stone path on the front of your house, you noticed his eyes were closed. The wind blew a little harder than before, and you brushed your hair away from your face. Carefully stepping across the street, you let your curiosity take lead. Finally, you were standing right in front of him, the slow rise and fall of his chest signaling he was asleep. This was just like the time you met him in the forest. You leaned down and stared at his face, eyes taking in his sharp, prominent features, like the jutting angle his jaw made to connect with his ear, or his pointy nose. His eyelashes cast small shadows across his cheekbones, and the dappled light streaming from the leaves above highlighted his skin with patches of bright light.

Noticing he truly was asleep and wasn't going to wake to warn you about treading too far, you leaned forward until your lips were pressed against his forehead, right between his eyes. You pulled back, then yelled when you realized his eyes were open. He yelled back, just as startled as you. You stepped back but tripped, falling on your ass and staining your kitten pajama pants in the grass. Jean clutched his heart, staring at you with wide eyes.

"W-wha…" he breathed.

You felt your face heat up. You pulled back your head and laughed nervously, embarrassed. "I thought you were asleep…" you said, calming down.

He stared at you, mouth agape.

"Jean? Buddy?" you asked, tilting your head.

"_?" he exhaled, confused.

"Uhh…y-yeah," you answered.

Suddenly his face became red, even more so than your own. Confused, you watched his face contort into a scowl as he stood. You watched as he stiffly walked away, your eyes trailing him as he walked past the tree, then disappeared.

You sat there, unimpressed. Obviously he was still there, you could tell by the way you heard muffled curses, "God…_fuck_…dammit."

But you knew he still wasn't going to say anything to you, even if you showed him you still loved him. Jean and his split second confidence. Sighing, you decided to give it up. Standing, you turned back in the direction of your house, vaguely disappointed.

You turned around, though, when you felt his hand take yours. You barely had a chance to look into Jean's copper brown eyes before he kissed you. You didn't even have enough time to react when he pulled away ever so slightly and breathed out, "Thanks," before stepping back, shoving his hands into his pockets, and walked towards his front door, a small smile on his lips.

Unconsciously, you licked your lips. Face heating up, you stiffly turned and continued back to your home across the street, fuzzy feelings in your head and warmth spread throughout your body.

_Split second confidence my ass._

—

You closed the door behind you and exhaled, lips still tingling. You didn't know what compelled Jean to kiss you so randomly like that.

In front of you on the floor Sawney lay, curled up, amber eyes watching you. You stared at him for a moment before scowling.

"What?" you asked the cat.

He blinked, eyes full of amusement.

You groaned and got down on one knee, petting his head. Ever since Bean's death, the cat had been isolating himself from everyone else. It was only yesterday that he came from his spot on the stairs to the kitchen for something to eat.

He purred as your hand rubbed behind his ear. He closed his eyes momentarily before opening them to gaze up at you.

"It's going to be alright, Sawney," you murmured to him.

There was a wolf whistle behind you, causing you to jump. You whirled around, finding Hanji sitting not the couch, eyeing you with a playful smile on her lips.

"So…," she said, "how was the little smooch with Jean out there?"

You were caught off guard, that was for sure. Not only because she had seen the kiss, but because she was looking normal again. Her eyes were no longer red and her hair was back to its usual ponytail, somewhat neat.

"What are you doing up so early?" you asked her.

"I could say the same to you, ya know," she countered, crossing her arms. She nodded at the door. "I see he's a little bit better."

You felt your face heat up. "Uh huh," you answered.

"Did he say anything?"

"He only thanked me for who knows what."

"For everything you've done for him of course!" Hanji cried, a grin on her lips.

"Hanji, I don't want to talk about this anymore-"

"So how was the kiss? Isn't that your second?"

"Y-yeah-"

"Ooh! There's definitely going to be more!"

"Hanji," you spoke clearly, catching her attention. "You're rambling."

She sighed. "Sorry about that."

The two of you settled down in the kitchen for breakfast. "Hanji, don't you think it's time to look for the uh…the clothes for the funeral tomorrow?" you asked her, pulling out a bowl from the cabinet over the sink.

She paused in pouring her cereal. "We won't bother buying one. I have a dress for you." Her boisterous tone was replaced with a calm, quiet voice.

"Oh," you breathed, looking away from her piercing gaze.

"No one ever said it would be this hard," Hanji spoke after a moment's silence, and you turned around to find her head in her hands. "What a wild ride we've both taken, huh?"

You blinked. "Yeah…"

"I would say it would get better…but I'm pretty things are only going to go downhill from here." Her brown eyes stared down at the rice flakes in her bowl, solemn. They flickered back and forth, taking in the details.

"Things will get better tomorrow," you said, unusually optimistic.

"Uh huh," Hanji replied bitterly. "You've forgotten we have a funeral to attend tomorrow?" She raised her head when you didn't say anything. "Can you sound so sure?"

"I don't know, really, if tomorrow will be better," you answered, pulling back a chair and taking a seat in it. "But maybe if we keep saying it, who knows? Maybe tomorrow will be better." You aimlessly picked up a frosted corn flake and ate it.

Hanji's dark gaze bore into your own (e/c) eyes, mouth slightly agape.

"What?"

"Have you ever realized that you're the wisest person in this town?" she asked bluntly.

"Uh…" You poured in your milk, watching her from the corner of your eye.

"You've been through so much. You lived a perfect life growing up until one ordinary day, and suddenly your mother and baby sister are dead-"

"Please don't say it so bluntly like that, it kind of adds insult to the injury," you said.

"-sorry. Your father became a heavy drinker and you had to live with him for two months before you ran from home. Officials found you and you were forced into foster care, and you've been with seven different foster homes in a span of just a few months. None of them you were able to connect to and ended just the same, them taking you back or you running away.

"Now you've finally stayed at a foster home you actually enjoy, and you made friends, and met Jean. You've helped each other in the first month you moved here. But now we know Marco is…dead, and you've pretty much lost your only friend-"

"Well, I wouldn't say friend since we've kissed-wait, _pretty much?_-"

"And you've been through so much pain," Hanji finished with a gasp.

"What's your point?" you asked her, dipping the spoon into the bowl.

"Most kids who've been through the same would start cutting themselves, or they need therapy sessions," she rambled on, trying to get to the conclusion in her head. "So why haven't you?"

You felt a little taken aback. "Are you saying I should start cutting myself or something…?"

"No! Goodness, of course not. What I'm trying to say is: how do you stay sane after so much grief?"

What? Sane?

"Hanji, I don't go insane or anything," you said after a moment of silence. "And its not like I'm invincible either." You looked up to her, puzzled. "Why would you even ask something like that?"

Her nose scrunched up a little. "Because I'm amazed by you," she answered honestly, dark eyes meeting yours for a second. "Amazed by how strong you are."

Was this what she thought of you? _This whole time?_

"Me too," you agreed, exhaling and shoving a spoonful of cereal in your mouth. "Me too."

—

The dress Hanji had laid out for you was beautiful. It was, in fact, a rich dark black, but it was a color worn in funerals. You knew from experience. So you tried it on. It fit the contours of your body perfectly, the bottom ending near your knees. The dark floral patterns on the lace skittered across the dress in aimless patterns, like a night sky garden.

You wrinkled your nose at the reflection of you in the mirror. You had your hair pinned up into the messiest of buns, and you removed the band, watching as your (h/c) (h/l) hair draped across your face.

You looked absolutely_dreadful_.

You stripped from the dress and laid it back onto your bed carefully, as if you might break the petals on the floral patterns of the dress. You settled for a pair of shorts and a random band t shirt, this one being My Chemical Romance.

Despite the awful heat outside, your eyes lingered on the Nike hoodie you favored, mostly from its smooth and comfortable fabric. Turning around, you glanced at the pile of art supplies at your desk, then towards the window. An idea popped up in your head.

You strode over to the window and opened it. You stuck your head outside. Reaching a tentative hand up, you grabbed the gutter and held on for life. You pulled yourself out of the window, gasping with you looked down. Your other hand flew to grasp at the gutter, and you pulled yourself up onto the roof of the house with a grunt. You let out a yelp when you fell onto the shingles. Settled down, you caught your breath and stared at the sky.

You could definitely get used to this.

You closed your eyes and pulled back your head, letting the sun warm your face.

The summer's were hot as hell here.

You sighed. The question from earlier still hung in your mind._"How do you stay sane after so much grief?" What a question._

It wasn't like you would go insane if you didn't let your emotions out someday. It was more like you would slowly corrode from the inside, rusting ever so slowly. And what Hanji said was true, most kids would start cutting themselves, others would result to suicide. So why haven't you?

Well then, it must be your mentality.

Fifteen minutes later and you hastily scrambled back into your bedroom window, the dark shingles of the roof burning to a crisp from the blazing morning sun. Once in the safety of your room again, you patted your arms where the shingles had burned them, and you were lucky there weren't any marks.

This was going to be a long day.

—

It was late into the night when you woke up to your phone buzzing on the nightstand. One eye opened, then the other, and you groaned, shifting to grab the cellphone. Instead of taking it, you only pushed it off the nightstand. It fell onto the carpet with a small thud, the buzzing continuing. Impatient, you rolled to the side of the bed and reached for the phone just as the buzzing stopped. Your eyes still haven't adjusted to the darkness, much less the light, so when you unlocked the screen, you squinted and drew back into the blankets, blocking as much of the bright screen from your hurting eyes as possible. You settled for making a little fort around you, a small hole letting your eyes land on the phone in front of it without straining from the massive amount of light.

You checked who had called, and you nearly dropped your phone. You waited a few more seconds to see if he would call again, and it was only when you texted him, "Did you call me?" was when the phone buzzed in your hand again.

Answering it and bringing it to your ear, you groggily said, "Jean?"

The other end was silent for a moment. Then-"I'm sorry." His voice was quiet, like he was trying not to speak too loudly of fear he may wake someone up, or because he didn't want his emotions to spill out all at once.

You didn't say anything at first. "Why are you calling so late into the night? It's nearly-" you checked the time on your phone-"two o'clock."

"I know…I just couldn't sleep," Jean replied.

You sighed. "Is it because of tomorrow…?"

No answer.

"Jean?-"

"Yes," he answered, too quickly. "Yeah…"

The night sounds filled your ear, as well as the silence that poured in from the other end. Crickets chirped brightly outside, and some dog barked into the night.

"I guess I'm just scared," he said.

"If I know anything about funerals, then that's all I know, Jean. And believe me. I've been to one…only for two."

"…oh."

"Yeah." You glanced through the hole in the blanket fort you made. "So…if you think I'm going to tell you being scared is stupid, then you're the stupid one."

"_, I'm sorry," he said suddenly. "The night of celebration…I shouldn't have said what I…did. I was just…"

"I know. Been there done that, remember? I've said and done somethings I regret, too."

"Oh yeah? Like what?"

"Well, I don't regret the things I did at my previous foster homes, but its like I somewhat feel bad for them? I, uh, vandalized some of their houses, may or may not have "accidentally" dropped some chocolate in the pet dogs' food bowl, or fought a few kids on the street." He whistled on the other end.

"Like, physical or…?"

"Oh. Yeah, physical. Uh, usually I'd come home with a few bruises and a bloody nose and knuckles, but you should've seen this one bitch when my fist kissed her face."

He chuckled. "I didn't take you to be a girl of violence. How many fights did you start?"

"For the record, I never started them, I only fought back for self defense," you countered. "'Girls don't start fights-"

"-they finish them'" he finished the quote for you. "What, I've seen some Disney movies, too."

You laughed, closing your tired eyes. "I'm glad you're talking to me again."

"_O-oh_. Me too," he replied. You could almost see the blush on his face growing in the dark and his white teeth shining in the dark as he grinned.

"So what took you so long?" you asked teasingly.

"Oh, you know," he replied quietly. "Grief. I mean, I won't be able to see Marco ever again…but you know how that feels…"

"Well, yeah. My mom and sister are dead. Of course. Let us sympathize with each other."

He chuckled bitterly on the other end. "Now you're making me laugh."

"I used to think it was good thing to do it all the time. Yeah, I probably shouldn't have said that."

"No, it's fine."

"What made you call me?" you asked him, finally getting the question out.

"I…I don't know."

"_Very_ convincing," you quipped.

"S-shut up," he answered quickly. "I just…I really like you and I don't I can't stand not talking to you or some shit."

"Oh…! That explains the kiss."

"F-fucking-yeah of course it does-"

"Can't stand being away from me, huh?"

"Shut the fuck up," he growled on the other end, voice muffled. You could already see his bright red face.

You grinned, feeling your cheeks heat up as well.

"But yeah," he coughed, "listen, I really like you. I think you're awesome and can I just officially ask this?"

"Jean, you're such a fucking middle schooler," you laughed, rident.

"Piss off okay? Now, will you go out with me?"

"Of course you dingus," you answered, smirking.

"Dingus?"

"Don't question my vocabulary," you barked back.

You could hear his muffled laughter on the other end.

"So where are you? In your room?" you asked him.

"Nah," he answered, and you could hear the grin in his voice. "I'm on my roof."

"Holy crap," you breathed, an idea popping into you head. "Hold on for a sec."

You didn't wait for an answer, so you shoved your phone into the waistband of your shorts and underwear. Crawling out of bed, you stumbled to the window, where you opened it. Cool air hit your sweat slicked skin, and it caused you to shiver. Seeing that your phone would fall from its place in your shorts, you took it and placed it between your teeth. Carefully, you lifted yourself out from the window and onto the roof, eyes wide. Once you had settled down on the noticeably cool shingles, you took your phone out of your teeth and put it to your ear, breathing hard.

"I can see you," he said.

You squinted, running a hand through your hair, gazing across the street to Jean's house. On top of his roof, barely illuminated by the bright moon and glittering stars, was Jean, a phone to his ear and a grin on his face.

"I can see you, too," you replied. "I guess."

"Well, now that we can see each other, I think I'd like to tell you how beautiful you are."

"Oh my god-"

"You are as beautiful as the night sky before us," he went on in a soft voice.

"_Jean-_"

"Your eyes are like the stars in the night sky…"

"God dammit-"

"Your hair is as milky as the Milky Way…"

"You piece of shit for ideas. Is everything about me like space?"

"Well, dear, you're my universe."

You actually blushed at that, because his voice sounded so genuine.

"Now, if you'll allow me to continue…"

"Shut up for a second."

"What?"

"Shhh, do you hear that?"

There was a pause before he asked, "Hear what?"

"It's the sound of you being a hopeless flirt."

He snorted, and so did you.

"You're a big idiot," you laughed, tilting your head back.

"I'm _your_ big idiot, though," he shot back.

You were quiet for a moment, and so was he.

"Jean…"

"Hm?"

"Do you ever worry that something really big is going to happen?"

"Like…what?"

"I don't know."

Silence again, save for the crickets and occasional dog or car.

"Sometimes I imagine how it would be if I died," you admitted, pulling your eyes to the dark sky. "Who would miss me? Would anyone miss me? How would I impact people? What have I left in their minds? That kind of stuff, you know?"

"And you wish you could just die, and see how it is, but be able to chose whether to stay alive or not…," he supplied.

"Yeah…yeah…"

There was silence.

You yawned, and soon after he did.

"How long have we been talking?" you asked, mid-yawn.

There was a pause before he answered, "'bout fourteen minutes."

"Oh."

"_? Are you okay?"

"Hm? Me?"

"No, _Obama_. Yes _you,_" he remarked.

"Jean, I'm doing better. Things are really getting better…I can feel it…even we do have a…funeral to attend to tomorrow."

"I really miss him."

"I know you do."

He sniffed. "A lot."

"I know…I know."

"Yeah…you know."

—

Soon it was almost four in the morning. You yawned again, watching small streaks of light beginning to smear across the dark blue sky in the horizon. You were both silent, your phones up into each other's ears, listening to each other's silence.

"_? Maybe we should go to sleep…" he murmured.

"Maybe," you said.

He yawned, stretching his mouth wide open. "Okay…"

"Okay."

Silence.

"Uh…are you going to hang up?" he asked.

"Are you? Or do I have to?"

"This is stupid-" you laughed, hanging up just as he said something.

From across the street, you could see him stand on his roof and wave his arms.

You squinted. "What?"

Jean said something, but it wasn't loud enough.

Confused, you shouted, "What?!"

He cupped his hands around his mouth, took a deep breath, and yelled, "I LOVE YOU."

Warmth rising to your face, you broke into a grin. He grinned back. Shaking your head and laughing, you edged closer to the edge of the roof and swung back into your room. You closed your window shut and looked back across the street to find Jean struggling back into his room, legs kicking as they searched to the window opening as he hung from the roof.

You could almost laugh, but worry seemed to overpower that. That was until he clambered back into his room that you let out a sigh of relief.

You hopped back into bed and placed your phone on your nightstand, crawling deep into the covers. Soon sleep came, and you gave in willingly.

—

"_! _?"

Something hard prodded your cheek, and you let out a terribly loud snore, one eye popping open.

"Hah?" you garbled.

"_. Wake up. Funeral starts in an hour," Hanji told you. Her hair seemed to be tucked into her ponytail more neatly today, and her blazer added more to the 'sophisticated Hanji' effect.

She turned around and left your room, not saying another word. There were no words to exchange, after all.

You sat up, almost expecting Bean to burst into your room at the first sign of life and bombard you with wet kisses, only…he wasn't here. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, not even regretting staying up with Jean.

Your eyes shifted to the bright sunlight streaming into your window. A small burst of air left your nose in an amused chuckle, a dark one, though. The last funeral you attended was your very own mother and baby sister's funeral. The next one you expected to attend to was your father's, him with his drinking and all. In the time you spent with him after your family member's deaths, you found yourself wishing for that funeral to come, when the look of pity from the adults would find you again, and they would place their hands on your shoulder, almost in a comforting way, but little did they know, it only numbed you more. You wished for the dark coffin to be carried off soon, and into the graveyard, where you would take a pile of dirt and fling it into the deep hole where it was laid, before turning away and going home, finally, yet ever so reluctantly, be alone.

Honestly, you really thought your father would be next. But then you escaped and police found you, and you were taken away from your father. Levi helped you so much, despite the two of you constantly being at each other's necks.

And now you were here.

You slipped out of bed and found the black dress hanging up on a hook behind the door, and you reached for it. After dressing and fixing yourself up, you walked down for breakfast.

Hanji had already sat down, chewing haphazardly at a bagel, eyes downcast at the orange juice carton, scanning the label. Sawney was at her feet, mewling every now and then, golden fur highlighted from the sunlight cascading into the room from the windows behind the two. He lapped at the water at his paws in between meows. Together the two ate, mourners in the early morning.

Well, two of them.

You strode into the kitchen and opened a cabinet. What did people even eat before a funeral? Their favorite cereal, hoping the bursting flavors will cover up the taste of bile about to rush out from their throat from the amount of sympathetic people that no, they didn't actually understand what it feels like. A Danish? Roll? _Sandwich_? Funeral themed cake that, in little black letters on lace grey icing, said, "_WE'RE SORRY FOR YOUR_ _LOSS"_? Or did people eat nothing?

Nothing, seemed appropriate.

And so you slammed the cabinet shut, startling the cat and scientist at the abrupt noise. You hadn't even intended for your anger, grief, and helplessness flow out all at once in that one motion. They turned to look at you as you dragged a chair back and flopped down into it, defeated.

Hanji stared at you with glasses over eyes. Finally, she spoke, "You alright?"

You didn't answer.

—

It was sad._Disgustingly_ sad. People were crying. Children glancing around at the tears, wondering if they too should cry. A few kids did. Others didn't, and you assumed it was because they didn't know Marco well enough.

And you sat next Hanji in the pews, somewhat near the front. Marco's family was packed together on your side, three freckled relatives sitting beside you, sniffling and wiping at their puffy red eyes, Jean's family, friends of the victim, coworkers, bosses, and others on the other side of the vast room.

You wondered if you should cry.

As Marco's father gave his eulogy, you focused on your grief, channeling, willing-forcing for that all too familiar prick in your eyes, for your vision to blur and the world to lessen in clarity as the tears spilled.

They never did.

Instead, you had somehow channeled those feelings to your _bladder._

Mr. Bodt droned on, describing a fond memory of Marco when he was a child, and someone sobbed loudly, unable to contain their emotions.

Disgustingly sad.

You rose and shuffled out into the aisle, hopping over feet and apologizing. You knew it was a bad time to get up, but if you didn't, your bladder was going to explode.

Even if that was a god damn exaggeration, you had to take a breathe outside, where you weren't choking on the air. After all, it was all you had left.

You hurried down the aisle and slipped through the large wooden doors, closing them carefully before turning to look for the restroom. You finally found the door labeled WOMAN and went in.

As you had expected, no one was there. You quickly peed and washed your hands. Drying them off and throwing the towel away, you turned back to the mirror above the sink.

She stared back with drooping (e/c) eyes, (h/c) hair pulled up in a seemingly tangled mess, a mess that could be taken as socially acceptable to take outside the house. Her lips, pink from lip gloss, neither curled up nor down, just a think tight line it was. Her expression as a whole-dreadful.

She wasn't the girl you wanted to be.

You stared for a minute more before stepping back out into the corridor, glancing down the hall at the corner, where just around it a quiet voice spoke from.

You froze, startled, listening intently.

"God dammit how am I going to fucking do this shit…Jesus _Christ_…fuuuuck."

You peered around the corner and nearly fell back, eyes widening at the backside of Jean facing you, his blonde hair a mess as he ran his hands through it, still muttering to himself. He paced the corridor, feet making silent thuds to the beat of his thoughts.

"Jean?"

He yelped in surprise, bumping his elbow on the bookshelf beside him, causing a few books to clamber off and fall to the floor. He desperately tried to catch a few of them, but they slipped from his grasp. Jean whirled around, eyes wide as he stared at you.

"Jesus shit, Jean," you breathed out in alarm.

His gaze flickered downward, pink tinting his ears. "Hi," he said, voice small, like a scared child before his first roller coaster, which just happens to be _Kingda Ka._

"Mind telling me what's up?"

He made a low gurgling noise, like that of a clogged sewer drain.

"Or not, okay, that seems fine, too."

He coughed awkwardly. "N-no, I mean, I'm just nervous…"

A small huff of air escaped your lips in amusement. "No shit."

Suddenly it became silent between the two of you, and you just…stared. You took him in: his pursed lips, hunched form, and eyes…they shone eerily like…stained glass windows in a the buff of the dawn light. He looked…dead.

"I'm sorry," Jean whispered, "I-I'm just so…_tired_." It was like all the stress, grief, crying, staring, starving, and frustration was poured all into that one short word.

"Stop apologizing. I've heard enough of that as it is…," you sighed, trailing off. He nodded, understanding what you meant.

"You'll…you'll do fine, Jean. Just breathe."

"Breathing's the last thing I have left," he relied jokingly, taking a step closer.

"Not exactly the last thing…,"you said.

"Well of course. How could I forget you? You're my air after all."

"And you're mine, it seems."

—

You back down beside Hanji as a hush fell over the church as Jean strode down the aisle, a look of determination and worry etched into his expression. It reminded you of a turtle for some strange reason, and he seemed to be walking at the same pace as one. Finally he reached the podium, and he straightened his tie and fixed the height of the mic before fixing his eyes on the people before him and opening his mouth for the first time to a throng.

"I-I'd like to thank everyone for coming here today first before I begin. It's, uh, really helpful to all of us for your support." He swallowed nervously, eyes turning downcast.

"As many of you may know, I was Mar-" he had to pause for a brief second to gather up the strength to say his friend's name-"Marco's best friend. Since, like, kindergarten I think. We were always together, playing, talking, joking around. When we were a little older-I think 9, 10, 11? Something like that. Well, we, uh, made a little pact. He stuck out his pinky finger to me on the playground all of a sudden, giving me this serious look, and said, "'Together forever, right Jean?'"" Tears sprung to his eyes at the memory, and he swallowed the lump in his throat. "I said, "'Yeah, 'course'" and stuck out my pinky and we pinky promised."

So because of that, I had this rough illusion that yeah, we were going to 'be together forever'. And, well. That pinky promise was like giving a flower to your executioner in hopes he won't chop your head off. It was useless. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to make this anymore sadder than it is. Being an asshole is just who I am, as I've been told multiple times by a certain someone-"here his eyes looked up to you, and you looked away, slightly embarrassed-"and thinking positively clashes with me always thinking realistically. The two don't mix, because overall, the realistic part is usually negative. Because that's _life_."

If I learned anything about living, is that it's a fucking son of a bitch. It bites you in the ass. But you know what? Pain is just a mind thing. That's all it ever was. It's all up here-"he tapped his head"-and we all have the power to make it go away. I learned that from Marco. He helped take the pain away from life. It's like wherever he went; he just radiated in this pain blocker, like he took a bath in a tub of it. It was always on him. His voice, his eyes, his laugh, his smile, his fucking presence."

He's not here anymore to provide me with these pain blockers anymore. Or to anyone else who loved him. And I found out, that these blockers are in us. We just gotta find them. They may be ourselves, someone else, or a physical object, or a pet. Just find one and latch on. I'm just as uncertain as you as to where I'm going with this eulogy. But I know one thing, and that's that Marco wouldn't want any of us here to live without being happy at his memory. Just forget the bad ones. Forget them all. For _him._"

**For the past five or so months I've been working on this chapter. I stopped writing, started, stopped, started. Sometimes I wrote a sentence, a paragraph, or I just stared at the document on my ipod. But got damn its done, despite a few days late from its original due time. That was cause I was sick and i kinda still am. My throat hurts like dicks.******

**Anyway, I hope you all like this chapter. Sorry i haven't done anything lately, there are too many reasons to name. My life has changed a lil too. Let's just say I'm starting to understand those lost feelings reader has...But I'm okay. I promise. Just been thinking a lot.******

**This is my Christmas present to you. I hope you had a happy holidays, and I give my prayers to the families who can't spend time together. That they have an empty seat at the dinner table, or if you're mentally or physically ill and can't spend time with your family, or being with them is dangerous. I hope you all have a nice end of the year because you all deserve it. I'll probably go back to my cave and not come with an update in a few months again. Sorry, it's just how I am.******

**I would've made this chapter longer for you guys, but I wanted to get it in somewhat on time.******

**Oh and btw. I watched the Interview. Yeah, go do some research on North Korea if anyone's bout to watch it. They still use concentration camps, they do not feed their country's population, and they publically execute people for numerous outrageous reasons. Despite how funny the movie is, please understand why it was risky to make it in the first place. And kind of stupid to poke fun at North Korea.******

**Anyway, that's all I have for today. ******

**I dont own snk nor its characters.******

**Peace out.**


End file.
